Chin Strong
by Strucky
Summary: Dean had been living with a serial killer for twenty-six years, but he already knew that. As he grows up Dean struggles to protect his brother and himself. After twenty-six year of this something happens and things in Dean's life begin to change, for better or for worse, well that's yet to be decided. Warnings! Abuse, non-con, violence, this is a dark story, be forewarned.
1. What Doesn't Kill You

_A/N : Hi there, so I just want to give all the warnings, so please read carefully and if you do not approve of some of the things I will write about then please do not read._

_Warnings: AU, Normal Humans, Child Abuse, Angsts, Violence, Rape, PTSD, Prostitution, Under Age Sex, Slash, Probable Homophobia, _

_Side note: there are mentions of character from all seasons but no real spoilers, also I switch up some relationships and locations as to where people live. _

* * *

_Monument, Colorado 2005_

God, as it turned out, was late. Or at least in Dean's opinion he had been years too late. So late that he had given up completely on the thought and notion of God. He had prayed all his childhood away and ended up with nothing but tired hands and a hoarse voice. Dean hadn't prayed in ages, so when the door of hotel room was kicked open and a herd of cops entered, he couldn't help but wonder who had been praying for him.

The carpet tasted like shit, but Dean couldn't turn his head because of the officer holding him firmly down. Handcuff were slapped around his wrists and cut into his skin. He let out a small hiss of pain, only to have the officer slam his face deeper into the disgusting carpet. His vision was blocked but in the very corner of his eye he could see his father. There had been no time to grab the guns when the cops barged in, so John was in a very similar position as Dean. Though, unlike Dean, John was struggling. He yelled and cursed at the cops while his body refused to remain still. Dean listened as his father threatened the officers, _Good plan Dad, _Dean thought sarcastically.

Dean was no longer on the floor. Two cops hulled him to his feet and began to push him outside. Dean went willingly. He made no fuss as the officers read him his rights, or when they shoved his head down to hard when he was put in the back of the police car. Dean could hear the sound of the car locking, leaving him alone. He watched as some cops shook hands and congratulated each other, then watched as his father was dragged from the motel. The scene had gained many spectators, from the motel and and nearby establishment, people came to watch as Dean's father was slammed into the hood of a car before he was shoved into the backseat.

After a few minuets of celebrating the arrest the officers departed in their cars. Two got in the car with John and another two joined Dean. The siren was flicked on and the car skidded out onto the road. The cop in the passenger seat kept sending back glances at Dean, but never spoke a word. The car ride was absent of speech and filled by the screaming siren. Dean's hands twisted behind his back, trying to relieve some of the discomfort. He began to gnaw on his lip to relieve his nerves. He was scared, no, strike that, he was terrified. Dean knew what his father did, moreover he knew what other people thought they did. Dean didn't want to die, he had spent his entire life trying to prevent his death at his fathers hand, he did not want to end up dying on a table with a needle stuck in his arm. He knew that he had to tell the truth, but the question was, who would believe him?

They arrived at the police station, along with a dozen news channels plus reporters. John had gotten there first and was being pulled into the station while he was bombarded with cameras and microphones. All the way to the door John smiled at the cameras. Dead shuddered.

Dean was yanked from the car and pulled through the crowd of people. They screamed his name and thrust microphones and tape recorders in his face. Dean wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear. God he _hated_ this. Finally he was free from the new reporters and it was slightly easier to breath. Once more he was dragged along, this time to an interrogation room. One cop opened the door as the other pushed Dean over the threshold then slammed it shut. Dean jumped at the sudden sound then composed himself before taking one of the two seats at the silver table. To his left the was a two way mirror, Dean took in his reflection and felt the same as what he saw. Tired and so damn beaten down, that he was sure there was no fight left in him. Dean sat down, mindful of his handcuffed hands, then allowed his head the fall gently to the table. The cool metal felt nice against his forehead and it helped ebb away the rapid beat of his heart.

Dean was not a true believer in God, however, as he had prayed before, he prayed once more. With his eyes shut he sent up a prayer that he would be saved. That someone would take mercy on him, whether that be letting him go or killing him Dean did not care, he just wanted this to be over. He ended his make shift prayer knowing in his heart that God had given up on him, or perhaps he had never care at all. That thought sounded more plausible then the other.

Dean wondered how long they were going to make him wait until he finally saw another cop, or detective, or, hell maybe even the FBI would show up. He knew that they were trying to scare him, make in stew in the cold room, but what Dean knew and they didn't, was that he was innocent. Well mostly innocent, he had never killed anyone, but he had also never told another living soul that his father was a murderer.

The door opened so suddenly Dean's head flew away from the table and he nearly knocked himself out of the chair. He was surprised that someone was here so soon, he had figured that he would be alone for much longer.

The man who walked in sent Dean an unimpressed glance then took the seat across from the young man. He was a black man with a 'take no shit' attitude smug on his face, he looked away from Dean and opened up a folder, which Dean figured held his, and perhaps his father's, case file. The man flicked over a few pages and smirked before he looked up.

"Do you know why you're here son?" he asked condescendingly.

"Yes," Dean replied, ignoring the other man's tone.

"Well then," the man huffed a laugh. "Why don't you tell me why you're here and I'll fill in the blanks for you."

"What's your name?" Dean asked after a beat of silence.

"FBI Special Agent Henricksen," the man said smoothly.

"FBI Special Agent Henricksen, I am here because my father is a murderer," Dean told him.

"Only your father?" Henricksen asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Only my father."

"See here's a part where I'll fill in the blanks for you Dean," Henricksen said. "May I call you Dean?" he asked snidely and Dean nodded despite it. "_You_ and your father are killers, _you_ and your father murdered three girls in New Mexico, a man in Texas, a couple in Vermont, and six people in Kansas. _You_ and your father are serial killers. Elusive and very clever, I'll give you that, but serial killers nevertheless."

"Your wrong," Dean said not looking at the man, his eyes had drifted to the left and hovered where the floor met the wall. His voice was weak, he was sure that Henricksen did not believe him for one moment.

"I don't think I am Dean," Henricksen said and relaxed back in his chair a bit.

"I never killed anyone," Dean insisted.

"Can you prove that?" Henricksen laughed. Dean's eyes shot back to the man. He wanted to yell at the man that he could _never _kill anyone, but his nerve betrayed him. Although the man had not hurt him, the sinking feeling that he would held tight in the pit of Dean's stomach.

"No," Dean replied softly, averting his eyes from the man once more. "But I never killed anyone, never..." his voice wavered and he stopped speaking.

Henricksen stayed silent for a long while. He took in the man before him, he was jumpy and scared, but that was not uncommon for someone who was just recently arrested. Although there was a tug at Henricksen's gut as the young man claimed he had never killed before. The FBI agent picked up the Winchester file once more and leafed though it. He read old reports of the murders and saw Dean's name there many times but no photo, while pictures of John were plastered across every other page.

"Lets say that you're telling the truth, say you didn't kill anyone," Henricksen spoke up, his mouth twitching a little. "Did you know that your father was a murderer?"

"Yes," Dean said to the floor.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Henricksen asked, actually curious as to what the answer would be.

"I couldn't," Dean said so slightly that Henricksen wasn't sure if he had actually spoken.

Henricksen edged his head forward, his brows creased. He folded his hands on the table and closed his eyes for a moment then opened them back up. Dean's body language was speaking in volumes, Henricksen took it in and with a grimace realized the story had taken an abrupt turn. It was not just the fear of being caught and arrested, Dean was terrified of something much more then going to jail.

"Did your father threaten you?" Henricksen asked, though he figured he already knew the answer. Dean refused to speak, his head was turned down and his eyes fluttered around the tiled floor. "You need to speak to me Dean. If your father threatened to hurt you if you told on him or anything else; you need to tell us. This could lessen you prison time." Henricksen tried to bargain with the young man. "So I'll ask you again; did your father threaten you?"

"Yes," Dean said finally. "All the time," he continued to speak to the floor, not chancing a glance at the FBI agent.

"What did he threaten to do if you told," Henricksen pursued gently. Dean could hear concern echoing in his voice, that was a tone he had not hear in long while. Slowly Dean raised his head and cast a look at the other man. Henricksen tried to remain calm and to appear open to anything Dean may have to say. Dean kept his mouth shut as he rolled his shoulders and squared himself in his seat. He was now facing Henricksen completely and even though he felt exposed he knew it would help the agent trust him more.

"Stand up," Henricksen said sharply and stood just as fast. Dean jumped and turned in on himself once more. Henricksen mentally reprimanded himself for the quick action. "Please," Henricksen said after a beat. He watched Dean swallow hard and could see his shoulders shaking ever so slightly. "I just want to take off your cuffs," Henricksen explained. Dean eyed him wearily then stood up as instructed. Henricksen moved around him and with a great swiftness removed the handcuffs. Dean's hands remained behind his back until Henricksen had gone back to his seat and sat down. Dean copied him and placed his hand on the table where Henricksen could see them, although with the new freedom Dean had no idea of what to do with his hands. He kept turning them over and over in each other.

"Dean," Henricksen began and Dean eyes almost met his gaze. "What did your father threaten to do to you?"

"He—He threatened me all the time," Dean said to his now free hands. "Told me he would beat me, stab me, take off a limb or two." His voice shook the entire time he spoke. "He would say he was gonna kill me sometimes..."

"Did he ever try?" Henricksen questioned and Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

"Yeah—," Dean said in one strangled breath. "A couple times."

"What caused him to try and kill you?"

"I—I tried to tell someone, and well Dad found out and nearly throttled he to death," Dean told him. "Once he stabbed me in the side and left me in a motel room for a week, alone. I had tried to run away..." Dean explained sadly.

Henricksen stared at the young man in front of him. He attempted to take in what this man was saying. His own father beat him, nearly killed him, and he still stayed at his side, why? Henricksen looked at Dean's eyes, they were much older then they should have been, so close to dead eyes. There was also a scar that ran from his cheek down to his neck, and light violet bruises streaked across the part of Dean's neck that he could see. Henricksen's eyes moved down to Dean's hands, they were folded on top of one another but he could still see scars on their backs. Henricksen swallowed hard, he wondered what the mans body looked like, he imagined that it was filled with more scars inflicted by a serial killer. The detective now wanted to believe that Dean was not a killer, but the captive of one.

"I would have told if that was the only thing he threatened," Dean's voice broke Henricksen away from his thoughts.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"If death for me was the only thing dad would have done if I told the cops, I would've let him kill me long ago," Dean said as his eyes left the agent and moved back to the wall. Henricksen did not know what to say. When Dean had called that murderer 'dad' Henricksen felt like punching him, then the admission that he would have gladly died to turn in his father, had him spinning.

Realization hit him hard and fast.

"What else did he threaten you with," Henricksen demanded. There was something that Dean had to protect more then his own life and Henricksen needed to know what was so important that he would die for, that he would be killed for.

"He threatened to kill my brother," Dean said softly.

"You don't have a brother," Henricksen said quickly. He had read the file extensively, Henricksen knew this case inside and out, there was no mention of another son of John Winchester. It was only John and Dean Winchester that existed, those two were the people who were on a killing spree across the US.

"There's no record of you having a brother," Henricksen said. He was now flustered and frustrated by the words that were being emitted from Dean Winchester. "What's his name?"

"Sam, and I know there's no record of him," Dean returned, his voice catching at his brothers name.

"How," Henricksen asked, confused and irritated. "Why, why is there no record of Sam Winchester?"

Dean sighed then looked Henricksen right in the eyes, the pressure of such deep, sad eyes made Henricksen want to look away but he did not, he stared right back as Dean spoke.

"Because, I killed him."

* * *

Henricksen knew he was a good detective, his investigation skill were top notch, and no one would disagree with that. He placed high in the rank of FBI agents in his field and knew that with the closing of the Winchester case he would earn a promotion. But none of that seemed to matter as he sat in front of Dean Winchester. His head told him that the young man had been apart of the mass murders that covered many states, but his gut told him otherwise. With the emission that he had killed his brother, Dean Winchester had Victor Henricksen's mind turning. His instincts made him want to believe that Dean could not have killed anyone, all the shit the kid had gone though, with having a serial killer for a father, must have made him fucked in the head, but Henricksen was still unsure if the man before him was a killer.

"You told me you never killed anyone," Henricksen said, his voice flat. Dean shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, well...," Dean paused. "It's a long story."

"Dean you are under arrest for murder," Henricksen laughed. "You have the time, as do I."

"I'm only gonna tell it once," Dean said, his eyes back to the wall. "So either write it all down or get someone to record it."

"Is this your confession?" Henricksen asked.

"No, not really," Dean said with a sigh. "It's a confession of what my father did, and what I did to survive him."

Henricksen nodded then stood up suddenly, the quick movement made Dean flinch away from the man. Henricksen cursed at himself once more as he moved over to the door. He opened it and called out for a tape recorder or a video camera. He came back to the table and sat down with his actions more controlled than when he stood.

"Do you need a drink?" Henricksen asked.

"No," Dean replied. "But, thank you."

The next moment a man opened the door with a video camera in hand. Henricksen reached out a hand for it. The man stared at Dean wide eyed and with a shaky hand he handed the camera to the FBI agent. Henricksen glared at the man until he left, his eyes still wide, with fear or wonder, Henricksen couldn't decide. He set the camera on the table flicked out the view screen, turned it on, and pressed the record button. A red light began to blink and Henricksen brought his attention back to Dean.

"Dean Winchester," Henricksen said a little too loud. "State your peace."

Dean looked over at the camera, in the viewfinder Henricksen noticed that Dean was only half in the screen. He face was turned to the left and the scar running down his face stood out almost to strongly against his pale skin. Dean turned himself slightly towards the camera and straightened up a bit. His eyes flicked from the camera over to Henricksen.

"There's no way my father will ever be released, right?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"No, not even with an amazing lawyer," Henricksen told him.

"Good," Dean said firmly then lost all tension in his voice as he began to speak about his past. "Uh, like I said this is a long story, so—uh, yeah, I'll get on with it. The first person my father killed was my mother. Your police files probably say she died in a house fire, which is true, but my dad is the once who set the fire. I was four, and I watched him set the curtains in Sammy's room on fire. He gave me Sam and told me to run outside. I did, and I waited for my mom and dad to come out, but only my dad did."

"Sam," Henricksen mumbled. "There is no record of a Sam, as I said before Dean. There was a full investigation on that fire, many thought that it was intentional but we couldn't prove it, but there is nothing saying that two boys came out of that fire alive, or that one died."

"No there isn't, I know that." Dean said quickly. "That part comes later."

"Fine," Henricksen said throwing his hands in the air, then kicked himself as Dean shied away from him once more. Henricksen sighed and let his hand fall down in his lap and spoke again. "Just tell me one thing, how old was Sam when that fire happened?"

"He was just a baby, not even a year yet," Dean answered, and Henricksen wrote something down on the case file he had opened. He had flipped over a page and on the back had written in all capitols; SAM WINCHESTER, underneath that he had started a list of Sam's life.

"Right," the other man said. "Continue."

"There are more then twelve," Dean said, his voice stronger now.

"More the twelve what?" Henricksen took the bait.

"Murders," Dean said, his voice losing the strength it had just gained. "My dad killed more then twelve people, probable more around eighteen or twenty, that I know of. There are probably a lot more"

"Do you know the names of these people?" Henricksen asked, pen at the ready.

"No," Dean replied. "Don't even know if most were men or women, I just know he killed more."

"How?" Henricksen's question hovered in the air for a long moment.

"When he'd just killed someone, he would whistle," Dean said looking anywhere but the camera. "And usually, if I was lucky, he wouldn't beat me. The second person I know he killed was a woman. I was seven. He literally came home with blood on his hands, he whistled Knocking on Heavens Door. Then went into the bathroom and washed his hands. I knew what he had done, and I didn't do anything, because I was scared and, well, because I was seven."

_1986 Osceola Washington_

Dean did not like it in Osceola, although he was really staying in a motel in Enumclaw, his father demanded that they visit the old town. Sam had clasped down on Dean's hand and had not let it go for one moment as they followed their dad down the deserted street. There were only a few buildings left, and most looked like they would fall over at any moment. Dean watched his father, he seemed to be looking for something but Dean didn't know what, all he knew was that he wanted to leave, and that Sammy needed to leave, or else he would have nightmares.

"Dad?" Dean asked timidity. "Are you almost finished?" John made no acknowledgment that he had hear Dean at all, if anything John walked faster and left his children behind. Dean slowed and allowed his father to get further away then took Sammy over to one of the buildings that did not look like it was going to topple over. From there he could see his father and most importantly he could see the car. The building sheltered the brothers from the slight wind that was blowing down the empty town. Dean sat down and brought Sammy down with him. He sat the little boy in his lap and began to tell him a story. It was the same story he had told Sam the night before but it didn't matter, Dean knew that Sam liked the stories, even if he repeated them. Dean liked the stories too, they easy to remember and they always had a happy ending. Sam listened intently to Dean. The younger Winchester did not speak much, but he made up for it with listening. Dean often compared him to a sponge much of the time, because he would drink up any story like it was chocolate milk. Dean found that he liked that Sam did not talk much. If Sam was quiet it meant that there was less for John to get angry about.

Their father seemed to get angry at everything and anything that his boys did. It had been Dean's job since he was four to look after Sam. If Sam was crying, it was Dean's fault, if Sam had a full diaper it was Dean's fault, if John lost all his money at poker it was Dean's fault. Dean had gotten used to the feeling that it was always his fault. Dean was pretty sure that Sam knew that their father blamed Dean for everything, so he kept quiet to keep his brother safe. Dean was grateful for someone who knew him, even if Sam didn't speak much Dean knew that he could count on his little brother to make him feel better.

Sam shivered, so Dean wrapped his arms around his brother. It was midday, but Washington did not have favorable weather. There were clouds overhead, but no rain, yet. Dean knew that if they stayed much longer the rain would start, and if Dean or Sam got water on the interior of the car they would be in trouble. Well, Dean would be in trouble because he never let Sammy be the one who got punished. Dean continued to speak as Sam spread his hands over Dean's arm, he poked at his brothers hands, and pressed their palms together. Dean watched Sammy and smiled softly at the little boy. He didn't realize it but he had stopped talking, Sam did though.

"Dean, don't stop," Sam whispered like a secret. "You were just getting to the best part."

Dean gave a little laugh then started the story back up. He didn't have time to finish it though, because a few minutes later their father came walking back up the road. Dean pulled himself and Sam up and hurried over to the car. John had a wicked smile on his face, Dean did not like it one bit. He hustled Sam into the car once their father was sitting down then jumped in after him. Dean sat in the back of the car with Sam, it never seemed like an option to sit in the front seat with his father, not that he would have wanted to.

The drive back to the motel was silent. Sam held onto the end of Dean's shirt and looked out the window. Dean was tired but he knew he couldn't sleep in the car, their father would get mad if he did. Dean kept one eye on his dad and the other on Sammy. Sam smiled slightly as they passed a woman and her many dogs, who were running away with her. Dean noticed that his father was smiling as well, but he knew that the dogs were not cause of the smile. Once John had gotten his boys back to the motel he let them get out, tossed Dean the key then took off. Dean stood in the parking lot for a moment, a little stunned that his father had left them again so soon. He held back a sound of frustration and forced himself not to cry in front of Sammy. Dean took a long breath before taking Sammy by the hand and walked over to the room in silence. Dean unlocked the door and when they were both inside locked it back up.

"You wanna watch TV, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"Okay Dean," Sam said and scurried over to the bed they shared. Dean flicked on the TV then turned it to a kids network. Sam sat on the bed and became absorbed in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, as Dean went to the kitchenette and opened the cupboard. There was one box of mac n' cheese, and one loaf of bread. The fridge did not have more, just milk, and some cold cuts.

"Mac n' cheese or sandwiches for dinner, Sam?" Dean asked, his head still in the fridge.

"Mac n' cheese!" Sam said happily. "Thanks Dean!"

"Sure Sammy," Dean said and allowed himself to smile. He loved the times he had alone with Sam. The little boy would talk boy and actually be loud, like a three year old should be. Though Dean always feared that John would not come back before the ran out of food, or before they got kicked out of the motel, or before someone called child services. That was Dean's biggest fear, not that his dad would beat the hell out of him, but that Sam would be taken away from him. Dean needed Sam, probably more then Sam would ever know. Sam was the only thing keeping Dean from losing his mind. He needed to be sane and keep his cool so that Sammy would be alright. 'Look after Sammy,' that was Dean's motto and he strived to follow it.

Hours later, after Sam had fallen asleep, Dean lay beside him in the bed and waited for John to come home. Dean had to be up to open the door for his father, he had fallen asleep one night before John had come home and had gotten a severe beating for making him wait outside until the banging on the door awoke Dean. Dean was keen never to let that happen again, not because the beating was bad, it was because Sam had seen it. When John stormed out that night, to a bar most likely, Dean had to comfort Sam. He hated seeing his brother distraught, so he stayed up. He listened to Sam's breathing and listened for the car to pull up. Dean knew the sound of the car all too well. The Impala always gave Dean a clear indication of when his father had arrived with its loud engine.

Dean could hear it then, the rumble of the car pulling in close to the room. Dean got out of the bed and went to unlock the door, he stood aside and waited for John to enter. Dean could hear whistling before the door opened. John came into the room, cast a glance at Dean, then continued to whistle. Dean recognized the song, Knocking on Heaven door, then he saw the blood. His father's hands were red, as were his pants and there was a splatter of blood across his blue shirt. Dean felt his own blood go cold. John noticed his son staring and gave him smack to the back of his head. Dean flinched away and grabbed the back of his head and awaited for more blows. When they failed to come he ventured a glance up.

"Get to bed," the older man grumbled.

Dean did not need to be told twice, he nodded and scrambled back to Sam. He placed a protective arm around the boy and closed his eyes most of the way. He carefully watched his father step into the bathroom and wash the blood of his hands and whistle the end to the song. Dean didn't have proof, but he knew that his father had killed someone. The feeling of horror and dread was enough proof for Dean that the man he shared a room with was a killer.

The next day John went out early to get food for the car ride. They were leaving town and Dean knew why. Sam was still asleep so Dean turned on the news. He watched it until the story he didn't want to be true appeared on the screen. A woman stood in the middle of the street Dean had been on yesterday and told of the body they found in the deserted town. A woman, a blond mother of three, was dead, stabbed to death, and the killer was pulling up in his car right outside the door.

Dean turned off the TV and woke Sam. They packed their things and left the town in a hurry. Dean did not speak, Sam kept trying to get him to finish the story he had been telling the other day, but Dean could not. He gave Sam a picture book instead, and spent much of the car ride staring at the back of John's head. His father was a murderer, Dean already knew that, he knew John had killed his mother, but now he had taken the life of another person. Dean wanted nothing more then to run, but...Sam. Dean's eyes flicked to Sam and he changed his mind. He had nowhere to go. Nowhere he could take Sam where they would be safe. He thought about telling the police, but the thought of foster homes and being separated from Sam was not something he could imagine living with. Sam turned the page in his book and Dean began to plan.


	2. Pieces

_Monument, Colorado 2005_

Henricksen needed to compose himself before he tried to speak. The expanse of words that fell from Dean Winchester's mouth was making his head spin. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it when he knew that nothing would sound right, no apology would be alright, nor an insult would be the right thing to say. After a few false starts Henricksen decided that a question would be the only action to take.

"Are you certain that your father killed that woman in Osceola?" Henricksen asked, trying to sound toneless as he wrote down this new information on Dean report, and knew that the officer behind the mirror were scrambling to look up the old cold case.

"Yes," Dead nodded.

"And you never reported it?" Henricksen continued.

"No," Dean sighed. "I told you I couldn't tell anyone."

"Right, right," Henricksen agreed. "So what did you do after that, what did you start to plan?"

"I began to plan how to save Sam's life," Dean replied looking to the side.

"When did your father first threaten you or your brother?" Henricksen asked curiously.

"I was ten," Dean responded quickly. "He had killed someone else, the whistling told me that, and when he came home Sam was at school and I watched him clean up. I didn't say anything, just watched, he lashed out and told me that if I told anyone he would kill me, then Sammy. So I didn't say anything."

Henricksen sat back in his seat, he did not know when he had begun to lean forward. The story that flowed from Dean Winchester was twisting his gut and making his head hurt. Dean's story, and that all it was at the moment, a story, was intriguing and heartbreaking. Henricksen knew that he should not be listening to it, it could be complete lies, what he should really do is throw him in a cell and let the man rot. He was a killer, all the investigations had confirmed that he and his father were on a murder rampage across America. The FBI agent thought about just standing up and leaving, calling in another cop to come put Dean in a cell, but he couldn't. The feeling in his gut was outweighing his mind. But most of all, Henricksen wanted to know what happened to Sam. Henricksen loved mysteries, and the mystery of Sam had absorbed him. He still wasn't sure if Sam was ever real, but he still wanted to know how Dean was going to protect his brother, imaginary or not.

"When did you tell Sam?" The FBI agent asked.

"I never did," Dean said softly.

"Never?" Henricksen's mouth hung open a little. "How? Why didn't you tell him?"

"And ruin _his_ life too? No thanks. Sam already had a tough life he didn't need this stacked on top of it. Plus, the less he knew the better. I could keep him safer if he never knew that our father killed people. It was better to keep him in the dark about that." Dean had a hurt expression on his face, one that Henricksen knew from experience, it was regret. Though regret of what, Henricksen was not sure of yet. Regret of not telling Sam, or the regret of letting Sam go? The further Dean's story went the deeper Henricksen was pulled under.

"But, he knew your father beat you?" Henricksen probed.

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "Wish he didn't, but he did know that. I told him after a couple years that dad had stopped, but he didn't believe me. That kid was always pretty smart. Guess I was just better at keeping secrets, figure that's something I got from my dad."

Henricksen shivered at the thought of gaining something from John Winchester. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought about, that somewhere in the world Sam Winchester was out there not knowing who his father really was, nor know who his brother was, and what he had sacrificed for him. Henricksen knew that the interview needed to continue, although he figured that he had enough information to prevent a jury from sending Dean to death, he still needed Dean's statement on his fathers threat to stop him from serving jail time.

"When you were ten you said your father first threatened to kill you right?" Henricksen asked.

"Yeah," Dean replied.

"Tell me about that," the FBI agent requested.

"Well, like I said Sam was at school, and I was at this house dad had rented," Dean started, then Henricksen interrupted him.

"Did you go to school?" Henricksen asked.

"No," Dean replied, a little thrown by the question. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just curious really," Henricksen lied. He knew that if Dean had gone to school there would be a record, just like there should have been a record of Sam in school. Henricksen was also surprised that Dean had never gone to school, mostly because he seemed like a smart man, though that may just have been the wisdom from having such a horror of a childhood.

"Where were you this time?" Henricksen followed.

"California," Dean said, then looked down at his hands.

_San Bernardino, California 1989 _

The house John had gotten for them wasn't in a particularly good part of town, nor was the house in a good way, but it had a roof, beds, and working bathrooms, so Dean figured that it would be alright for a while. They had come to California almost a month ago, and John had made no notion that they were going to be leaving any time soon and that suited Dean just fine. He liked when they stopped moving around every other week. It was also good for Sammy, he hadn't been to a school for more than a couple weeks in a while. The six year old was now in first grade and couldn't stop talking about how much he was learning. Dean envied him, even became jealous at times, but he knew that he had a much more important role and that he could not go to school.

Dean was cleaning the kitchen when his father came home. It was his fathers mess he was cleaning, he had gotten drunk the night before and thrashed the kitchen looking for more alcohol. John walked by Dean without a second glance, like he was just a piece of furniture in his life. Dean continued to clean but kept an ear out for his father. He usually did not come home midday, most of the time he arrived back at the house around midnight. Dean didn't know what he was doing most of the day, but he really did not want to find out. Dean held in a breath when John's footsteps came close to the the kitchen again. His father walked in and glared at his eldest son. Dean could feel the stare on the back of his neck, the intensity of it caused his hands to tremble. He clenched at the rag he was using as he waited for whatever his father was about to do or say.

"Where's your brother?" John demanded.

"At school," Dean replied and felt his chest release some pressure.

"School, right," John muttered. Dean pretended not to watch as his father paced for a moment. "I wont be home till tomorrow," John said suddenly. "Don't fuck anything up while I'm out."

Then he was gone. Dean let out a long breath, then smiled. A whole day without his father, it was like Christmas. Dean finished cleaning the kitchen and prepared a snack for Sammy for when he got home. He glanced up at the clock, it was a little after one o' clock, Sam got done with school at two. Dean would leave the house around one thirty to walk over to the school and take Sam home. Dean enjoyed the walks they had, Sam would talk and talk and talk, while Dean would listen. He figured that he would make something nice for himself and his brother for dinner. He jogged over to the room that he and Sam shared and opened up his duffel bag and pulled out an old sock. Inside was a stash of money Dean had kept hidden from his father since he was six. He pulled out ten dollars and stuffed it into his pants pocket, then hid the sock back in his bag. Dean wasn't sure how much money was in the sock, he had never counted it, he only ever stuck a few dollars in there when he had found one or dad have given him a little more than he needed when he went to the store. The money was for the 'just in case' moments, like; just in case dad doesn't come back for a few days, or just in case Sam gets sick. But for one day Dean was using it for himself. He wanted to have a nice dinner, maybe chicken, or something. He could never have a nice dinner when his father was there, but tonight was going to be different.

Dean left the house and headed towards Sam's school. The school was kinda far away, Dean had to walk clear out of the bad part of town he was living in and down into more of the middle class area. He took his time as he strolled down the block. Some of the houses on the block were boarded up with 'Keep Out' signs attached to them, others were ramshackle and had mean looking teenagers sitting on the front porch. They sniggered as Dean walked by, once they had even thrown a pop can at him. Dean took no mind to them, he didn't particularly care what they did, just as long as they did not hurt Sammy. Thankfully, most days when Dean walked Sam home, they were usually gone. The bad part of town broke into the middle class part quickly. From one falling over apartment building to a nice home, with a white picket fence to top it off. Dean continued past these houses and finally the elementary school came into view. Once there he stood under a tree near the parking lot where many of the parents of the other kids were already waiting for their children. Dean watched as some of the parents got out of their cars and stood outside to wait, other sat safe in their minivans reading or singing along with the radio. Dean then noticed that one of the mothers was coming over to him. He looked down instantly and kicked at the dirt a bit. None of the parents had ever approached him before, Dean was extremelygood at blending in to the background. His throat suddenly became dry and he scanned around for a place to hide, but before he could even move the woman was right next to him.

"Hi there," the woman said sweetly. "Your Sam's brother right?" Dean took a glance up and nodded. He wasn't sure how she knew that Sam was his brother but she did not seem threatening, still, Dean kept his guard up.

"My name is Claire, my son Jimmy is in Sam's class," she said. Dean picked up his head a little but still said nothing. Claire bit her lip for a second then crouched down to Dean's level before speaking up again. "What's your name sweetie?"

"I'm Dean," Dean said softly to the ground, the woman smiled anyway.

"It's nice to met you Dean," Claire said and held out a hand for Dean. Dean took a step back, away from Claire's hand. Claire slowly put her hand down but kept her smile up.

"Well Dean I was wondering if your dad was around?" Claire asked. Dean shook his head. "Oh well you see Jimmy has been begging me to ask Sam's dad if it is okay for Sam to come over to play. Will he be here to pick you two up?" Dean shook his head once more. Clare tilted her head to the side, "Then who takes you home?"

"I do," Dean replied. "I walk Sam home."

"Oh, you walk Sam home by yourself?" She asked, her face full of worry. Dean, again, nodded.

"Every day?" Another nod. "Where is your dad now?"

"He's at work," Dean lied to his shoes. Claire looked a little put off. "He works a lot," Dean tried to strengthen his lie. He knew that what he did for his little brother was not what most brothers did who were his age.

"I see," Claire said sadly and stood up.

The bell rang and soon the front of the school was filled with children. Dean picked Sam out from the crowd, he was talking to another boy animatedly. Sam spotted Dean and made his way over to him.

"Hi Dean," Sam said happily.

"Hey Sammy," Dean smiled back. The boy he was talking to went up to Claire, he must have been Jimmy.

"Mom can Sam come over?" Jimmy begged. Claire looked over at the eldest Winchester, Dean shook his head.

"I don't think so Jimmy," Claire said. "Not today anyways." Claire gave Dean a small smile and Dean tried to return it. There was an awkward moment when Jimmy was pouting, Claire was worrying and Dean was edging away from the group. Before Dean could escape Claire offered the Winchester brothers a ride home.

"Yeah!" Sam said quickly before Dean could polity decline.

"Sam," Dean hissed at his brother.

"What? It's just a ride Dean," Sam shrugged off. Dean would not mind a ride back home, or to the store, but he was afraid that his father would find out. Dean knew the probability of his father coming back so soon was slim, and Sam looked like he really wanted to go with Jimmy and Claire. Dean figured that he could at least give his brother this.

"Okay," Dean agreed. Claire looked delighted.

"Great, come on boys," she laughed. She led them over to her purple minivan and opened the back door for Jimmy and Sam. She made sure that their seat belts were fastened and told Dean that he could sit in the front. Dean hesitated, he had not sat in the front of a car in a long time. Claire hopped into her seat and Dear hurried to get into the car. He clicked his seat belt and they drove away from the school.

"Actually," Claire said suddenly. "Would you two like to come over? I was planning on making grilled cheese."

"Dean can we please?" Sam cried from the back.

Dean threw a look back, Sam had his lip pouted out, and his eyes went wide. Dean knew that Sam had very few friends and had never really been over to one of their houses, so, with a sigh, he agreed. He swallowed hard as he did, but the excited sound Sam made, made Dean happy. They drove to the other side of town and Dean dreaded the walk back they were going to have to take. Claire must have noticed Dean's glancing at the street signs because she offered to take them back home, claiming that it was no problem. They pulled up to a nice house with bright green grass covering the front lawn. Dean got of the car and before he could say anything to Sammy, he and Jimmy were running into the house. Dean didn't know what to do, he felt exposed here.

"Come on in Dean," Claire waved a hand towards the house.

Dean followed her into the house. The first thing he noticed was the smell of vanilla, that was something that he would never smell back at the rented house. The house was warm and it gave Dean the same kind of comfort that the Impala did, for that car was more of a home then any other place in the world. Claire waited for Dean to enter the house before she shut the door behind them. Dean looked around for where Sam might be, he did not see him but he could hear his brother.

"They're probably in Jimmy's room," Claire told him. "You could go play with them if you want," she offered. Dean shook his head, he wouldn't know how to anyways. "Would you like to help me make the grilled cheese?"

"Sure," Dean responded then followed Claire into the kitchen.

Dean sliced cheese while Claire talked, he also kept an ear out for Sammy. As long as he could hear him, or Jimmy, in the other room he felt okay. Dean snuck glances around the kitchen taking in what a real house looked like. There were pictures all over the walls of Claire and her family, an older man who Dean assumed was Jimmy's dad had his arm draped over his wife and two boys say in front of them. On the refrigerator there were drawing that must have been done by Jimmy, and a repot card that must have been the other son's. Dean looked to another photo of the two brothers with their father, all smiling, all happy. He wondered if that could have ever been his life. _No_, Dean thought, _this will never be my life. _

When the sandwiches were done Claire called Sam and Jimmy into the kitchen. They came running in, Sam was all smiles and Dean couldn't help but return it. They sat at the table and Claire asked the younger boys what they did at school that day. Sam and Jimmy explained that they were now in groups to see who could draw the best picture. Sam assured them that they were going to win because they had Meg in their group and she was the best artist in the class. The conversation changed to Jimmy's older brother and when he was going to come back from his after school program. That got Dean's attention. He had never thought about after school programs, but now the idea was circulating in his head. A way that he could make sure Sam was safe and kept him away from their father for as long as possible, had simply fallen into his lap. He then took his time to wondered if Sam would like a science club or maybe a reading one.

Hours past and Dean dreaded having to leave Claire's home. For a long time he contemplated telling her, telling her that he knew that his father had killed someone, and that he hurt him all the time, but Dean didn't. He wold try to say something but no words would come out, he gapped like a fish then snapped his mouth shut when he realized that he would never be able to tell Claire the truth. He couldn't even tell Sam the truth, how was he supposed to tell a stranger?

Dean left Claire's side and wondered to Jimmy's room where the two friends were sitting on the floor in front of a TV. They were playing some sort of video game. When Dean came in they offered him a go, he turned them down and sat of Jimmy's bed to watch instead. Dean perked up when he heard the front door open followed by many footsteps entering the house. Dean tensed, he did not like not knowing who was now in the house. Dean gratefully heard Claire greet the intruders with a gentle voice.

"Hi boys," She said. "How were your days?"

"Good hun," said a older male, whom Dean figured was Claire's husband.

"Okay mom," said a younger voice. "I've got more homework to do, I'll be in my room."

Footsteps carried by Jimmy's room and Dean caught a slight glimpse of Jimmy's older brother before the sound of a door shutting followed the blur of a person. Claire then poked her head into the room and asked if they were hungry for dinner. Sam and Jimmy said yes, Dean said nothing.

"Do you want to help me out again Dean?" Claire asked. Dean looked at Sam for a quick second then nodded. He let her lead him back to the kitchen where her husband was.

Dean went stiff. The man did not look menacing but he could feel the fear raise in his chest. Claire introduced him as Michael. Michael held out a hand for Dean to shake and smiled at the young boy. Dean did not take his hand, he only looked at it. Michael dropped his hand and shared a sad smile with his wife. He excused himself saying that he was going to work in the other room. Dean helped Claire put together a salad while she placed a chicken breast in the oven. As they waited for the chicken to cook Claire tired to edge out some question from Dean. She asked him if he went to school and Dean lied. She asked if he liked his school, Dean lied. She asked if Dean's father was nice, Dean lied. Lying was easy to Dean, normal for him really. He lied to the landlords of the places they rented, he lied to Sam's teachers, he lied to Claire, he even lied to Sam. Once Claire realized that she wasn't going to get any real answers from Dean, she allowed for silence to take over the kitchen. Dean liked that better, in the quiet he could hear Sam and that was what really mattered.

When the chicken was done Claire called all of her boys to the table. Sam and Jimmy came running in followed by Michael then by Claire's eldest son. She introduced Dean to her other son Cas, who only nodded at Dean before taking his seat at the table. Dean wasn't paying attention to the two adults or the brothers who sat across from him, his attention was all on Sam. His brother had a wide smile on his face, that was something Dean had not seen in a while. Sam looked so happy here. For a terrifying moment Dean thought about leaving Sam there. He thought about just standing up and running away, letting Sam stay with this family, maybe giving him a normal life, a happy life. But, he couldn't do that, he was to selfish.

Claire severed the food and then they did something that Dean had never done before, they said grace. Sam took Dean's right hand and Cas held out a hand for Dean as well. Dean hesitated at the offered hand, but with a nudge from Sam he took it. The people at the table all held hands and bowed their heads, as Michael spoke and thanked God for their food and for Sam and Dean's company. Dean felt a little bad that he did not really pray, but the sure smile on Claire's face told him that it was okay. The prayer said they released hands and Dean let out a breath he did not know he was holding. As they began to eat Sam and Jimmy filled the room with their banter. Dean enjoyed their argument and startled a little when Michael let out a deep laugh. Soon the entire table was laughing. Dean could not remember ever being this happy, and that was a big deal for him.

When seven rolled around Dean told Claire that they had to go back home. Claire nodded but fist tried to convince Dean to stay the night. Dean wanted to but he needed to be home when his father got there. Claire sighed knowing that Dean would not stay with her. Dean grabbed Sam and they got into the car. Once again, Dean watch the street signs that they passed, just in case. Dean gave Claire direction to their house and saw her bite her lip as she saw what part of town they were going to. When they pulled up at the house Claire had to be sure that they were in the right place.

"You sure this is it?" She asked, her lip still stuck between her teeth.

"Yes, " Dean answered. "Come on Sammy."

"Bye Ms. Novak," Sam said politely. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Sam," Claire said.

"Bye," Dean said with a half smiled.

"Bye Dean," Claire said.

Dean closed the door of the car and draped an arm over Sam's shoulder and walked into their house. Claire watched from her car and made sure that they got inside alright before she drove away, with a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach

Once inside Dean told Sam to get ready for bed. Sam complained a little but did it anyways. Dean, who had remembered that he had prepared a snack for Sam for after school, went to put away the food for tomorrow. His task done Dean went to their bedroom and got ready for bed as well. The brothers lay down on the bed and Sam nodded off quickly, but Dean remained awake. He stared at the ceiling and wondered if his father would be back tomorrow like he had said or if he would call and say it would be a few more days. If he did call, Dean thought about asking if they could go back to Claire's. With that thought lingering in his mind he fell asleep.

Dean got Sam to school the next day and kept and eye for Claire, but he did not see her. Dean returned home sat down in the living room and began to read one of the books the past occupants of the house had left. Dean was about an hour into the book when his father came home. The Impala rumbled outside and Dean shut his book. He stood up, glanced around the house to make sure everything was in place, then he hear the whistling. His blood ran cold. John opened the door saw his son and smirked. Dean watched as his father trudged his way to the kitchen with a large bag over his shoulder. John dumped his bag on the counter, all the while whistling. He had an erie smile on his face and when he reached into the bag he drew out a bloody knife. Dean knew instantly what he had done. Dean gasped, then covered his mouth quickly. John turned and glared at him. He had a knife in his hand and he had turned on the faucet and was cleaning off the blood form the blades.

"Boy," John said. Dean did not need to hear a threat, that one word was threatening enough. Dean's eyes flicked to the door and wondered if he could make it there before his father. _Not likely_, Dean thought. Before Dean could try to find another escape rout his father was approaching him, knife still in hand.

"Do you know what I just did boy?" John breathed. Dean could smell the whiskey on his breath. Dean shook his head no, he lied, and John didn't believe him. "You know don't you? Tell the truth!" John shouted and raised the knife.

"Yes," Dean whimpered out. John moved quick and had the knife forced against his sons neck, not breaking the skin, but ever so close to. The backs of Dean's knees were now pressed against the couch, he feared that his shaky legs would not hold him up for much longer.

"If you tell anyone I will kill you," John said harshly. Dean tried to swallow against the knife but couldn't, he let the saliva build up in his mouth and the tears to poor from his eyes. "Don't fucking cry!" John sneered then flipped the knife in his hand and bashed the hilt against Dean's head. Dean toppled to the ground, one hand clasped to his head. John's foot soon found Dean's stomach and he kicked his son repeatedly. Dean coughed and tried to curl up into a ball. His father stopped kicking him only to pull him up by his arm and throw him into the couch. Dean shuddered and tried to breath easy.

"Dean," John said smoothly, as if he had not just kicked the shit out of his kid. "I want you to promise me that you won't tell."

Dean stared at the worn sofa under him, the old fabric was tearing and the cushions were near flat. He could hear his father hard breathing above him and he knew he had just asked him a question but he did not know what it was. Dean didn't dare look up at his father, that just made John angrier. He growled and slapped Dean across the face.

"Promise me you little fuck!" John shouted in his face, spraying spit everywhere. John grabbed Dean's chin and was forced to look at his father. Dean's eyes were wide with fear, his face hurt and he wasn't sure if he could move his jaw, but he did anyways.

"No," came a weak whisper. John jolted back, rage filled his face as he brought down the knife on his child. Dean held up his hand to protect himself but John was still able to catch him in the face. Dean cried out and held his now bleeding cheek.

"I swear to God," John roared. "If you don't promise me I will kill you then Sam!"

"No!" Dean shrieked, letting go of his face, injury forgotten for the moment. "Not Sam!"

"Then promise," John hissed. Dean wanted to throw up, he wanted to run away, he wanted Sam, he wanted his mom.

"Okay," Dean said defeated.

"Good," John said. "Now get your shit, we're leaving."

"But," Dean started, then stopped when John gave him an angered look. "It's just Sam is still at school." Dean watched as his father contemplated his options. Dean knew that showing up midday to pull Sam from his class would be suspicious, Dean also knew that John could not afford any suspect as he had just killed someone.

"When's he done?" John groaned.

"Two," Dean said.

"Fine you have until two, clean yourself up," John said as he walked away. "And make me some food."

Dean left the room as fast as he could. He held his side and held his breath as he made it to the bathroom, where he fell to his knees and threw up. He hung over the toilet and tried to remember how to breath. The air kept getting caught in his chest and he couldn't get it out. He wheezed against his hurt ribs and bruised stomach, trying to keep himself together. When he was sure that he was out of vomit, Dean pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Again he allowed himself to just breath. He could feel blood running down his face and into his shirt. He vaguely wondered if he needed stitches, then knew that his father would never take him to the doctors. Dean touched his cheek and hissed at the instant pain. His fingers came away bloody; he felt sick again. Dean swallowed down his sickness and stood up, he wobbled a bit but made it to the counter where he leaned heavily against it. As he caught his reflection in the mirror he gasped. His cheek had been sliced open from his cheek bone down to his chin and cut down just a little of his neck. The cut wasn't that deep thankfully, so Dean figured that it would heal alright, it was just bleeding a lot. Dean grabbed the nearest towel and pressed it to his face. The blood soaked up fast and Dean felt a little better, then he felt insanely worse. His father had threatened to kill Sam. It was Dean job to protect Sam, he wouldn't let their father kill him. Dean wished that he had never seen his father light their house on fire, wished he had never seen the news about the woman who had been killed, Dean wished he had a normal life. Dean stared at his reflection and began to cry. His tears caught in the towel on one side but rolled down his unmarred cheek. _What am I going to do?_ Dean closed his eyes tight. _Please, someone tell me what to do!_ Dean prayed, then his father yelled at him.

"Boy hurry up!" Dean's eyes snapped open. He wiped the tears from his face as well as most of the blood. He hurriedly pulled out the box of band-aids that were kept in the bathroom and plastered them to his face. He looked a mess, but he wasn't bleeding anymore. Dean took many deep breaths then ventured back to where his father was.

John was in the living room, he had turned on the television and was watching some football game. He noticed Dean in the room and huffed a laugh at his appearance.

"Make me a sandwich," John said then turned his attention back to the game.

Dean nodded and went to the kitchen and put together a sloppy sandwich, then cleaned it up a bit, because he knew that John would be mad if it wasn't right. He gave his father the food with a beer, then left the room as fast as possible. He went to his and Sammy's room and began to pack their things. He shoved all his clothes into one bag and Sam's into another. He headed back to the bathroom and took their toothbrushes and packed them away as his last task. When he was done Dean wondered if John meant for Dean to pack his fathers things as well. Dead didn't want to ask, he knew either way his father would be upset with him. Dean snuck his head into the living room and saw his father still watching the TV. Dean bit his lip and couldn't figure out what to do. It was nearing two o' clock and they would need to leave to get Sam soon. Thankfully John answered his question for him.

"Dean we're leaving now," John shouted, not knowing Dean was just behind him. "Put your shit in the car."

Dean went back to his and Sam's room and grabbed their bags and hulled them to the car. It wasn't far to go, but with his battered ribs it felt like ages. John came out right after him, he did not bother to lock the door of the house, making Dean wonder if he had rented it or if they had jut been squatting there. John unlocked the car and Dean threw their things into the trunk, then got in the back seat. Dean watched as the house disappeared into the distance.

It only took a couple minuets to get to the elementary school in the car, as they pulled up the bell rung. Kids ran out from the school and Dean could see Claire standing by the same tree as yesterday, she seemed to be looking for someone. Dean pondered if it was him. Then he saw Sam and Jimmy exit the school. Sam ran with Jimmy over to Claire. Dean held his breath. He watched them talk for a moment then saw Sam scan the area then point to the Impala. Then Dean was horrified as they all came walking over to the car.

"Dean, who's that?" John growled.

"It's—It's Sam's friends mom," Dean answered.

As the group got closer Dean saw the moment when Sam and Claire both saw the bandages on his face. Sam ran to the car and opened the back door.

"Dean what happened?" Sam asked from outside the door.

"Nothing Sam, get in the car," Dean said quickly.

"Dean..." Claire said softly, the shot John a look. "Mr. Winchester, can we talk?" She said sternly.

"No," John spat. "Sam get in the car."

"Dad," Sam whined.

"Sam get in," Dean forced.

Sam stood stock still for a moment then got in the car. He shut the door and Claire slammed her hand on the window. John stepped on the gas. Dean grabbed Sam's hand and sent him the message not to say anything. Sam nodded and held his brothers hand tighter. Dean cast a look back and saw Claire standing there pointing at the car and shouting something. Dean turned away and stared out the windshield, keeping his father in sight.


	3. How to Lie

_Monument, Colorado 2005_

"What happened next?" Henricksen prompted eagerly.

Dean lifted his eyes to the FBI Agent. The bad attitude had left and intrigue had replace it. Dean Winchester's story was one that played in movies, not one that happened in real life. Dean did not want to tell the next part of his life. Things got so much worse for him after his father found out that he knew. He kept a horrible secret for years; a secret ate away at him daily.

When Dean did not respond Henricksen left him alone for a minute. The agent relaxed in his seat and replayed what he had just listen to. He had so many more questions for Dean now, but he knew that most would never get answers.

"How did you keep Sam safe?" Henricksen asked knowing that this was an answer he needed to help Dean's case.

"I did what I had to do," Dean said into the camera.

"And what was that?"

"Everything," Dean said, then with more sadness to his voice added; "anything."

Dean paused for a long time before speaking again.

"When we got to the next city and Sam was in school again, I put him in any after school program. Math or science, whatever, just something to keep him away from our father. It worked for a while. I would go get Sam around five, and we would have dinner and dad would either be asleep or going out by then. Sam hardly saw him, and thats how I liked it. We stayed in Texas for almost a year, when I was twelve and Sam's school had ended, so I made Sam go to summer camp. It was one not to far from where we were, only a couple of miles, but it was three weeks and Sam didn't see dad for almost a month."

"What about you?" Henricksen questioned.

"What about me?" Dean shot back.

"What did you do while Sam was gone?" Henricksen pursued. "More importantly what did your father do to you?"

"I got a job or two," Dean said. "I tried to make some money for me and Sam, but dad found out I was working and decided that that money was his. So, other then get my ass beaten and work a job as a paper boy and get most of my money stolen, I didn't do anything but plan out how I was going to get Sam out of this life."

"How did you think you were going to do that?" Henricksen asked.

"I had many plans, not all of them were good, but one did work out," Dean told him.

"And which one was that?" Henricksen took the bait.

"The one that has you sitting here with nothing on Sam Winchester," Dean said with a little smile on his face.

"Okay so how'd you do it?" Henricksen laughed.

"Money and a friend," Dean said. "I had some money stored up, and I was able to pocket a little that my father didn't know about when I had that paper rout, but I needed more, a lot more, to help Sam disappear. To make Sam dissapear" Dean paused for a long moment, then took a deep breath and continued. "The first time I sold myself I was fourteen. I was at a bar trying to pickpocket the drunks when a trucker offered me fifty to suck him off, so I did. I put the money in my sock and Dad never knew and Sam was at summer camp and I never told him. That same year dad stopped leaving me money when he left me and Sammy alone, so I had to get it someway. And then Sam's after school and summer things all cost money dad didn't have, so...I got it."

Dean stopped talking, Henricksen didn't say anything either, they just stared at each other until Dean gaze wavered and eventually fell down to his hands. Henricksen watched the flood of emotions dance across Dean's face, from disgust and anger, then to resolve and sadness. Then Dean cocked a grin, a sarcastic front covering the horrific past.

"You gonna add prostitution to my record?" Dean joked offhand.

"No," Henricksen said. "I'm not."

"Well, thanks," Dean said then turned his attention back to the wall.

"Do you want to take a break?" Henricksen offered.

"Can we?" Dean asked quietly.

"Yeah," Henricksen said as he flicked off the camera and stood up. "I'll go get you something to drink."

Henricksen watched Dean nod then he exited the room. He stopped just outside it and took a deep breath. The cops and his co-worker from the FBI stepped out of the room beside him, the one that was on the other side of the double sided mirror. His partner, Reidy, narrowed his eyes at him.

"You don't think he killed anyone do you?" Reidy said.

"No," Henricksen told him and moved away from the door and with a quick motion of his hand telling the cops to stay behind and guard the door.

"He's lying to you Henricksen, you gotta know that. Only killers can lie that good," Reidy said. "He's just fucking with you. Trying to get on your good side with his sob story, there ain't no truth to it."

"You're wrong," Henricksen told him. They stopped at a soda machine and Henricksen bought a drink for Dean, though he thought Dean would probably prefer a beer or some Jack. He plucked up the soda then glanced at the vending machine with snacks in it and hesitated only a moment before grabbing the peanut M&M's.

"Victor," Reidy said solemnly. "I know you like mysteries, but the mystery of who Sam Winchester is, is a lie. We know there is no Sam Winchester. You are gonna get to the end and realize that you have been played. There's no Sam!"

"I think there is," Henricksen said as they went back to the interrogation room. "There is a Sam Winchester, and when Dean tells me where he is I'm gonna find him. Then we will know the truth. That's all I care about, the truth."

"You ain't gonna get it from him Henricksen," Reidy sighed. Henricksen paused and thought for a moment then spoke up.

"Where is John Winchester being held?" He asked.

"In their isolation cell," Reidy said. "We're were waiting for you to finish questioning Dean, then we were gonna bring him out to you, but you're taking forever with the kid."

"I want to see him," Henricksen said quickly.

"What," Reidy said exasperatedly. "Now?"

"Yes," Henricksen hopped over to the interrogation room and handed one of the cops Dean's soda and M&M and asked him to give them to Dean then turned on his heel and headed towards the cells with Reidy trailing him. Henricksen took long strides to try and evade Reidy, but to no avail. They arrived at the cell together. There were another two guards positioned outside the cell, they eyed Henricksen and Reidy wearily.

"I'd like to speak to John Winchester," Henricksen said calmly. The guards hesitated but obediently moved aside and opened the door for him. John was sitting on the ground at the back of the cell. His hands were cuffed together behind his back and he looked about ready to kill again. Henricksen tried to find the family resemblance between John and Dean, but he couldn't, not in this man who was feral looking and flat out evil. Henricksen took one step inside the cell. Reidy opened his mouth to protest but Henricksen held out a hand to stop him. John Winchester leered at the man, then spat at his feet.

"John Winchester," Henricksen started.

"What?" John spat, interrupting Henricksen. "You my lawyer, or something?"

"No," Henricksen actually laughed. "I'm not your lawyer, I'm not sure who would want to represent you. I'm Agent Victor Henricksen, I was dealt your case. I was the one who found you."

"You found me," It was John's turn to laugh. "You mean that piece of shit out there called you and you came running. When I get out of here I'm gonna kill him," John muttered.

"You are not getting out of here Mr. Winchester," Henricksen told him. "Not ever. All I want to know from you is one thing."

"What's that," John scoffed.

"Did Dean ever kill anyone?" Henricksen asked bluntly.

"Besides me and his brother?" John laughed mirthlessly. "That stupid fuck couldn't even _aim_ a gun at a fish in a barrel."

"That's all I needed to know," Henricksen said and turned swiftly. He smiled to himself, as John had no idea what he had just told the FBI agent. He left the cell but could hear John yelling after him, shouting that it was Dean who had killed all those people, that it was Dean who was the mastermind behind their rampage. Henricksen ignored it, he knew who the lier of the family was and it wasn't Dean. The door shut and the yelling was cut off. Henricksen took off back to the room with Dean waiting in it with Reidy on his heels. His partner was trying to get Henricksen's attention but there were more important things on his mind then the idea's of Reidy. Henricksen let himself back into the interrogation room where Dean was eating the M&M's. Henricksen sat back down across from Dean and turned the camera back on.

"These are my favorite," Dean said pointing to the candy. "Thank you."

"Sure," Henricksen said. "Dean I need you to tell me the rest of your story." Dean stopped eating and there was a flicker of pain in his eyes.

"Alright," Dean said softly. "But the rest really isn't my story, it's Sam's."

"Okay. Tell me Sam's story."

"The summer I turned sixteen," Dean started and stared down the camera, "Sam was at a science camp for almost two months and I think my dad was in Minnesota, but I'm not really sure. I was in Nebraska and I got a job at a bar bussing tables."

_Vally, Nebraska 1995_

Dean had just put Sam on the bus for summer camp. He waved goodbye along side the other parents who came to see their kids off. The small crowd dissipated and soon Dean was left alone in the middle school parking lot. He gave one last look at the spot where the school bus had been then briskly took off towards his car. Dean thought himself lucky, he was an actual sixteen year old who had gotten a car for his birthday. Well it wasn't really a present, and it had been five months late, but it was still a car. John decided that since Dean could drive he could take Sam places and do whatever needed to be done, and gave him the Impala, while John bought a new truck. When Dean saw the truck all he could think about was that his father was planning to kill more, and that truck was going to help him.

But Dean still thought he was lucky. Sam was at camp for two months and their father had taken off to only God knows where, Dean was blissfully alone. He figured that John would return before Sam, but he planed to enjoy the time he had to himself. Well, he would enjoy the few moments he had after Sam left, then he was back to looking for a job. Dean drove through the small town then drove right out of it. The outskirts of town were a better place to find a job where people wouldn't look to close at an ID or care to much when he disappeared. It was also a good place to pick up a Jon. Dean usually found his clients at sketchy bars and truck stops, there were never the nicest men, but they payed and that was all that mattered to Dean. Only a couple miles out of town Dean came across a place called the Roadhouse. He pulled up outside, there weren't many cars outside, but then again it was only five in the afternoon. He opened the door slowly and poked his head inside.

It was dark, the lights were dim and there was a video game making noise from the left side of the building. Dean stepped in and noticed one man at the bar then a women came out from a door behind the bar. She eyed him for a second then dismissed him and began to clean the bar top. Dean walked over and sat down at the counter. The women raised an eyebrow at him.

"You ain't old enough to be ordering anything boy," she told him. "What do you want?"

"A job," Dean deadpanned. The women pursed her lips and set down the rag she was using.

"Ain't got need for ya'," she said.

"That's fine," Dean said, he was used to being turned down. "Mind if I sit here awhile? Won't be a bother, promise." He was tired and he didn't want to drive anymore, that was what he would tell the women if she asked, but honestly he was hoping for a Jon to cash in on. The woman nodded and Dean thanked her. He stood up and made his way to the back of the bar and sat down at one of the booths that faced the TV. He watch the football game that was on and kept an eye on the door.

Dean sat there for a good two hours before a burly man came in and ordered a beer then took notice of Dean in the corner. Dean sent him a weak smile, that was all he usually needed. He was able to pick out in a crowd who would want him, and those who didn't. By the looks of this man he liked young boys and when he came over to Dean he wasn't surprised. The man said nothing to Dean just nodded to the door and left the building. Dean followed close behind him. Once outside the man looked over Dean then placed a hand on his hip. Dean tried to act normally, he hated when people touched him and he hated doing this, but he needed the money. The man's hand was to tight and Dean could already hear his rough breathing as they walked over to the man's truck. The man opened the door and told Dean to get in. Dean complied and scooted over to the passengers side as the man got in. It was a tight space, but Dean had worked in worse.

"How much?" the man asked as he pushed Dean down against the seat, touching his side and running a hand under Dean's shirt.

"Depends," Dean said. "What do you want?"

"Wanna fuck you," the man growled, and pulled at Dean's shirt.

"It'll be a hundred," Dean said and looked anywhere other then the man. "Fifty up front."

"Fine," the man said and pulled out the cash. Dean took the bills and tucked them into his shoe.

"What's your name?" The man asked stroking at Dean' stomach.

"Colin," Dean lied.

"Colin," the man repeated. "I like it, cute. Turn over Colin." Then he forced Dean over when he was moving to slow. Dean dug his fingers into the passenger seat and slammed his eyes shut.

"You got a rubber?" Dean asked over his shoulder.

"Do I need one?" The man asked.

"Yeah," Dean said back, ready to get out of the truck if the man did not complied.

"Fine," the man huffed then pulled out a condom from the glove compartment.

Dean could hear the man unzip his pants and then the sound of the condom foil being ripped open. Dean's pants were then pulled off and the man grabbed his hips and forced them up. Dean tried to blank out, like he had done so many times before, but the man kept talking and Dean couldn't disappear into his subconscious. The man pushed in, and without any preparation it really fucking hurt. He hissed and held back a yelp of pain. The man babbled and Dean tried to relax. He could not remember sex ever not hurting, but he knew that if he relaxed it wouldn't hurt as much. The man thrust into him and grasped the young man's hips tightly, Dean knew there would be bruises later. The man yelled the fake name that Dean had given, and Dean felt like vomiting. His head started to hit the door as the man's thrusts became wild and uncoordinated. Dean pushed a hand against the door to stop his head from hitting it. It felt like ages before the man was finally reaching his orgasm. Dean let the man fuck him until he heard the man stop talking and still in his body. The guy then flopped down on the younger man and breathed hard. Dean turned over a little and pushed him off. The man placed his hand on Dean chest and brought it down his stomach.

"Did you get off?" the man asked.

"Yeah, sure," Dean said and grabbed his shirt. "The money?" Dean asked as he pulled his pants back up. The man, _finally,_ said nothing as he got the rest of Dean's money. Dean took the cash, made sure his fly was zipped up and got out of the truck as fast as possible. He limped a few steps but shook it off, it wasn't the worst he had ever had. He went over to the Impala and unlocked her. He opened the glove compartment and took out a small envelope. He put most of the money he had just got inside then the rest in his pocket. He shut the car back up and went back into the bar. The woman at the bar sent a look his way when he came back in but did not say a word. Dean walked to the booth in the back and wondered how long he would be able to stay before the owner kicked him out. Apparently not long because the woman was now coming over to Dean.

"Do you really need a job?" she asked.

"Yeah," Dean said. The woman bit her lip then nodded.

"You can help me bus tables tonight, it's gonna be busy," she told him. "If you're any good you can stay for a few more days."

"Thank you," Dean said.

"I'm Ellen," she said holding out her hand to Dean.

"Dean," he said standing to shake her hand.

"Follow me," Ellen said. "I'll show you around."

Ellen bought Dean to the back of the bar then out though the swinging door. There on a table near the door was a man sleeping. Dean gave him a weird look, but since Ellen didn't say anything, he didn't either. She showed him where all the cleaning supplies were and the extra glasses.

"It'll get busy in a couple hours," Ellen said once she was done explaining the rules of the Roadhouse. "Why don't you go clean off all the tables."

"Sure," Dean said and grabbed a rag and a spray bottle of cleaner.

Dean cleaned and Ellen poured drinks for the customers. She was right it did get busy, in the next few hours the rode side bar filled with people. Lots of hunter looking guys and a few bikers and then a couple women who had come along with them. When it got to be too many people, Ellen went and woke up the man who was sleeping on the table in the back. The guy who came out looking like he was hungover, but when he stepped up to the bar he handled mixing drinks like a pro. Dean hurried around clearing the empty glasses from the tables and when he needed to he washed them and put them under the bar for Ellen and the other guy to use. At eleven things slowed and Dean finished cleaning all the glasses he had plucked from the tables. He and Ellen restocked them and she introduced him to the other bartender.

"Dean this is Ash," Ellen said.

"'Sup dude," Ash said with a hillbilly slash surfer tone.

"Hey," Dean said back.

"So how'd you get the lovely Ellen Harvelle to hire you?" Ash asked as he leaned over the bar. "Took her ages to allow me behind here."

"That cause you drink like a fish," Ellen mumbled.

"Ellen, I'm family," Ash said trying to sound offended.

"Just needed a job," Dean said honestly.

"Why Ellen you philanthropist," Ash laughed.

"Go do something useful," Ellen told Ash as she took the rag she had and threw it at him, hitting Ash square in the face.

The flow of people stopped and Ellen had to kick out the last drunk at midnight. The three then cleaned the bar. Ash turned on some classic rock and danced around the floor as he put the chairs on top of the tables. Dean offered to mop the floor and Ellen did not try stop him. Dean liked it there. He liked the banter between Ellen and Ash, and how he could see that they really loved each other. He listened to them talk happily and when silence fell between the two there was still the melodies from Led Zeppelin and Foreigner to fill the space. When they were all done Ellen payed Dean. She handed him the cash and told him that he could come back tomorrow at four if he wanted. Dean said that he would be there. He counted the cash and realized that she had given him more then they had agreed on. When he told her she just shrugged and told him to go home. She rounded on the cash register and began counting the money. Dean thanked her and left the bar.

He really didn't have a place to stay in Nebraska, he figured that he would just sleep in the Impala. Dean trudged outside and unlocked his car. Once more he split the cash he had made, most going into the envelope in the glove compartment the rest going to him. He locked he doors then rolled into the back seat. There was a blanket back there just for this occasion, Dean pulled it around himself and tried to fall asleep. It was uncomfortable in his jeans but his boxers would be to cold and he really didn't want to change outside. He lay there for a long while and was about to drift to sleep when someone knocked on the window. Dean jumped up and his eyes shot to the noise. Ellen was standing there with her hands on her hips looking a bit angry. Dean leaned over and unlocked the door and before he could reach for the handle Ellen pulled it open.

"Why didn't you tell me you had no place to sleep?" she said hotly.

"Uh," Dean said dumbly. He thought the Impala did qualify as somewhere to sleep.

"Get up," Ellen snapped. "I got an extra bed. All ya had to do was ask."

She started walking away and Dean scrambled to get out of the car. He popped the trunk and grabbed his duffle and ran after the woman. He followed her back into the bar then past the kitchen where there was a set of stairs. Above the bar was a nice home that Ellen had made for herself.

"Down that way, last door," Ellen dismissed. "You can sleep there."

"How much?" Dean swallowed.

"Nothing you fool. Get in there and sleep," she scolded him. "I'll think of something you can do for me in the morning. Oh, and don't mind if you hear Ash tumbling around here, don't think that boy sleeps."

Ellen then turned and took off to the other side of the second floor. Dean stood there for a long moment then tightened his grip on his duffle and went to the room Ellen had told him to. He opened the door and was surprised to see the room was completely decorated. It had a hunter lodge kind of theme. Dean stepped inside and set his bag on the bed. He let his eyes travel around the room and wondered if he ever had a room to himself if it would look like this or not. _Probably not,_ Dean wasn't one for hunting. Dean then imagined as to what he would decorate his room to look like. He had no real hobbies or likes so when he dreamt up a room it had nothing in it, just a bed. Dean sighed and opened his duffle and pulled out a clean t-shirt. He swapped his shirts then disposed of his jeans. He put the dirty cloths back in his bag and got into the bed. It was soft and there were more blankets than he was used to. Dean dove under all of them and embraced the warmth they gave and within seconds he was asleep.


	4. Wear a Scar

When Dean woke he could smell food. It was a strange occurrence to awake to. Slowly, he dressed, but before he could follow the sweet smell into the kitchen he had to hide his scar. During the night the makeup had wore off and needed to be re-applied. Dean dug in his duffle for the cover-up. It only took a few minuets to cover the scar. The first time he had covered up his scar was the day after it finished healing. Dean hated his scar, it always frightened people away, and it made his clients not as attracted to him. When the scar was gone Dean ventured outside his room. Ellen was standing at the stove a spatula in hand and humming a tune. Dean knocked on the doorway to announce his presence. Ellen turned and gave him a smile.

"Ya hungry?" she asked. "I bet you are. Woke up this morning and realized that you hadn't eaten a bite last night."

"I was alright," Dean told her. It was true, he was never really hungry after he left a client, and going without food for a day or two was normal for him.

"Well, come, sit," Ellen pointed with the spatula at the small table. "Better start eating before Ash gets here, or else he'll eat all the food."

Dean sat down at the table and Ellen joined him with a plate full of pancakes and bacon. She set them between herself and Dean then dumped some onto Dean's plate. Dean opened his mouth to protest being given so much food, but snapped it shut as he saw the determined look on Ellen's face. Dean began eating and was quickly falling in love with the woman next to him, the food was wonderful. Dean even went back for seconds. Ash then came strolling into the kitchen. He looked hungover, but gave Dean a wink as he plopped down beside him and began to shovel food into his mouth.

"Like a vacuum," Ellen mumbled, then turned to Dean. "So, Dean, what brought you to this part of town? Couldn't find a job in the city?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean lied. "Nowhere wanted to hire me, so here I am."

"Well I like the company!" Ash said happily. "You're much better then Jo, give you that." Ellen slapped Ash's shoulder.

"Who's Jo?" Dean asked as he picked at the last of his bacon.

"My daughter," Ellen said and threw a thumb over her shoulder to point to a picture on the fridge. Ellen and a young blond girl had their arms around each other, smiling wide.

"Jo's boring," Ash leaned over to tell Dean. "Always talks about boys and make-up."

"Oh," Dean said, truly unsure how to hold the conversation. Over the years Dean had found out how to interact with people despite his distrust of most of them. He tried to be friendly, but it was never honest, Dean never allowed himself to be honest with other people, only Sam. He had learned fast that people don't care, tell them you need money or your gonna starve, they'll just walk on by. This facade that he put up in front of Ellen was one he had used many times before. Ellen's laugh turned his attention back to the table.

"Jo's anything but boring Dean. Don't believe Ash, she's just fourteen, and Ash has the brain of a seven year old." The older women grinned at him.

"Oh," Dean repeated.

"How old are you Dean," Ellen asked.

"Sixteen," Dean said before he really thought about it. He usually lied, said he was older, or younger if that was what the Jon wanted. He regretted telling the truth when Ellen's face tightened.

"Where are your folks?" She continued.

"Don't have a mom, and my dad travels for his work." Dean stared down at his empty plate. He hated telling people about himself, it was always lies.

"Hum," Ellen acknowledged. "How long are you gonna be around?"

"I can leave if you want?" Dean spoke to his plate.

"Ain't askin' you to leave," Ellen gave a little laugh. "Just wanna know how long you can work for me."

"Oh,"Dean replied. "About two weeks."

"Okay," Ellen smiled. "Well I have some repairs to do around the house and in the bar. You any good with fixin' things?"

"I'm alright," Dean told her.

"Great," Ellen said happily. She then shoveled another pancake and more bacon onto his plate. "Finish your food, then I'll show ya' what to do."

Dean's day went well. Ellen give him things to fix in the bathroom and in the kitchen, they were little things and Dean had no problem sorting them out. It was nice to do a job that he knew was honest. He had only a handful of jobs where the wage he earned was made from honest to God hard work. Dean spent more time in the kitchen fixing up the small things, like the squeaking cabinet door and the the slight leak in the sink. At four he followed Ellen back down to the bar where they and Ash began to set up for the night. Ash turned the music back on and Dean found himself humming along to the songs.

Slowly people began to show up. Small groups, then one at a time, and by ten o' clock the bar was full of the sounds of drunk men and tipsy girls. Dean zipped around the floor picking up glasses before the were tipped over or smashed over someones head. He stopped to ask two girls is they needed something when a large hand clasped on his shoulder. Dean jumped and held back a yelp of surprise. He turned and saw the same man from the night before. Dean excused himself from the girls and walked with the man to a quite part of the bar. Dean really didn't want to go with the man, but his hand on his shoulder was tight and threatening. When the man did let go it was only to let his hand trail down Dean's front.

"Can I met you in my truck again?" he purred. Dean paused for a moment. He wanted the money, he _needed_ the money, so he agreed. Dean told the man he would be there in five minuets and that the price was still that same. The man left and Dean went to find Ellen to ask if he could take a break. She found him first.

"Who was that?" She questioned.

"Uh, no one," Dean said, not looking at her. "Could I take a break?"

"Not if you're going to see that man," Ellen said sternly.

"W-what?" Dean said, dumbstruck.

"I'm not stupid boy," she scolded. "And don't you ever think I am. I know what that man comes here for, and you ain't giving it to him."

"But," Dean tried to insist.

"No. Not gonna happen. If you need a little extra money I can lend it to ya," Ellen said matter of fact.

Dean didn't know what to do, he stood there frozen in place partly because of that and partly because of the fear that was creeping into his mind. He was now a little frightened of Ellen. The harsh tone she took made him think of his father. Dean could feel himself begin to shake and tried to quell it down. Ellen took quick notice of the shaking boy in front of her and swiftly took him to the back. She made him sit down and handed him a glass of water.

"Dean, you don't have to worry," Ellen said gently. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just...I just don't want that man to hurt you. Do you understand?"

Dean nodded his head but refused to say anything. He tentatively took a sip of the water and glanced up at Ellen.

"Good," Ellen smiled. "You're gonna be alright. But I have to ask, do you do it cause you need the money?"

"Yeah," Dean choked out. "For my brother—,"

"You have a brother?" Ellen cut him off. "Where is he?"

"Summer camp. I need the money to pay for the program," Dean told her never daring to look her in the eye.

"And what about your dad?" Ellen pushed.

"My dad can't afford it," Dean stumbled over his lie. "So I told him I'd pitch in."

Dean could tell Ellen didn't buy any of that story but she nodded nevertheless.

"Alright, I can give you a little extra every day," she said. "It ain't gonna be the same amount as you would get from that guy, but it's honest work. I don't want to see you talking to any of those men again, you hear me young man?"

"Yes ma'am," Dean agreed.

"Good," Ellen smiled. "Now lets get back to work."

Dean followed Ellen back out to the bar. Dean knew he had messed up, he should have never told Ellen about Sam. He never told anyone about Sam. His little brother was a secret to the world that Dean planned to keep for as long as he could. He didn't think Ellen would do anything about Sam but, he didn't know that for sure and he could feel the doubt settling in his stomach.

He didn't see the man anywhere when he got back out to the bar floor, but he knew how those guys thought and figured that when Dean didn't show up he would come back and find him. Dean started to fix his lie to tell the man. He worried over it while he collected the empty glasses that had piled up in the time he was away. Ten minuets later the man came back in and zeroed in on Dean. He worked his way over to the boy and grabbed him tightly by the arm.

"Thought you said five minuets?" the man hissed. Dean was shaking once more and his breath came in short gasps.

"I can't," he managed to get out. "My boss won't let me take my brake."

"Fuck 'em, come with me," the man began to pull Dean towards the door. Dean pulled back a bit but knew that if the man wanted him, he could easily over power him. Dean was about ready to accept what would happen when the man suddenly stopped. Dean looked over and saw a girl standing in his way.

"Dean! There you are." she said sounding very relived. "Look we gotta go, dad's out looking for us. He's even got sheriff Turner with him!" Dean had never met this girl before. She was thin and blond, she looked to be about Dean's age, and the was also something familiar about her.

"What?" Dean ask bewildered.

"We _have _to go!" she grabbed Dean's free arm as the man let go of his other one. "Kate said the two of them were heading this way. The sheriff is gonna have a shit fit if he finds us here!"

Dean listened as the girl weaved together a lie and watched as the man began to fear the fictional sheriff. The man looked around and left Dean's side and hurried out of the bar. Dean took a moment to take a deep breath then thanked the girl.

"Thank you," he said.

"No problem," she smiled. "I'm Jo, Ellen's daughter. She told me not to let you leave the bar." Dean felt a little ashamed that he would have gone against what Ellen had said but he was thankful for Jo. "Mom said we should go upstairs," Jo said. "Come on we can watch TV."

Dean followed close behind Jo, they walked by Ellen and she smiled at the two then turned to yelled at Ash. When they got up the stairs and into the living room Jo flopped down on the couch and flicked on the TV.

"What'd you wanna watch?" she asked as she flipped though the channels. Dean shrugged and remained awkwardly standing. "Come on sit down," Jo said an patted the cushion next to her. Dean slowly sat down, being sure not to touch her. He watched the screen flash image after image before Jo stopped it on a news channel. There was a story of the UK Prime Minister and his fight to remain the leader of the Conservative Party. Jo watched for a moment then looked over at Dean.

"No one wants to watch the news, so tell me what you like," Jo demanded.

"This is really fine," Dean said. It really was, when he was alone he would watch the news to see if his father had killed anyone. He honestly hated knowing but it was better then not knowing how many people had died at his father's hand. Jo sighed and left the news on. They watched in silence as the story changed to the Taiwan Strait crisis. After a half hour of the news and no words spoken between Dean and Jo, she couldn't stand it anymore. She jumped up and Dean startled.

"Lets make a pie," she said then turned to the kitchen. "Come on Dean," she whined and reminded Dean of Sam. Dean got up and went to the kitchen as well. Jo got out flour and butter and began to tell Dean what to do. He cut up butter while Jo measured the flour. She talked constantly, about anything, he mother, Ash, school, boys. Dean listened. He listened for so long that Jo finally got bored of her own voice and tried to make Dean talk.

"So Deeeean," Jo drew out his name. "You got a girlfriend?" She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"N-no," Dean sputtered.

"Haha, don't worry I'm just playing with you," she laughed. "Do you live around here? Well probably not cause I've never seen you before, huh?"

"I'm from Kansas," Dean told her. Their pie dough was now finished and Jo stuck it in the refrigerator to chill. Jo leaned against the counter and Dean began to clean up their mess.

"You don't need to do that," Jo told him, but Dean brushed her off, it was the least he cold do. "What are you doing in Nebraska?" Jo asked.

"My dad travels for work," Dean told her.

"Well that's a lie if I ever heard one," Jo scoffed.

"W-what?" Dean's heart sunk.

"I'm a good lier, no strike that, I'm a fantastic lier. I know a lie when I hear one," Jo smirked. "So tell me the truth, I gotta know."

"That—that is the t-truth," Dean stuttered.

"Right," Jo rolled her eyes. "I'll get the truth out of you sooner or later, you just wait."

Jo let the topic go and Dean was thankful. She had him peal and cut up the apples while she rolled the dough and put it into a pan.

"I've never had apple pie before," Dean admitted. Jo nearly dropped the pie crust she was holding.

"What?" She asked with her mouth slightly open in awe. "How is that possible?"

"Just never had the occasion," Dean said a little shyly.

"Well get ready Dean, cause apple pie is like sex, drugs and alcohol had a baby and named it delicious." Jo laughed and then helped him make the apple filling.

As the time passed Dean found himself very content with Jo. Perhaps it was because she was not an adult who was threatening to him, or maybe it was because she acted a little like Sammy. Either way Dean smiled through her stories of her friends and even laughed out loud at an antidote about Ash and the misfortune of finding out he had hit on a transvestite one evening. The pie was cooling in the kitchen and Jo and Dean had moved back to the living room when Ellen and Ash entered the room. Dean tensed, this did not go unnoticed by anyone. Jo stood slowly and asked Dean to help her cut the pie. Dean got plates while Jo sliced the pie. She served everyone a piece and they sat at the table together. Ash was about to shove the pie in his face when Jo stopped him.

"Wait! Dean has to go first," Jo said.

"Why?" Ash asked.

"He's never had apple pie before," Jo whispered like a secret.

"What?" Both Ellen and Ash turned to Dean who went red. Ash dropped his fork and they all stared at Dean until he picked up his own fork and ate the pie. It was very good, better then a lot of things Dean had ever tried. The apples were sweet and the crust was flaky and helped ebb away some of the sweetness. Dean swallowed and looked up to see if he had had the right reaction.

"Good?" Jo asked.

"Very," Dean replied.

With that everyone dug in. Dean listened as the little family spoke. Ellen asked if Jo had a nice time at Rachel's, and Jo replied with something that made Ash groan with annoyance. Jo and Ellen both slapped him on either arm. The girls laughed and Ash complained but Dean could see him smiling as he grabbed another slice of pie. Dean could feel himself relax, he hadn't been this content in years. Without the fear of his father or the worry of Sam looming over him, Dean sunk in the chair and could feel the emotions of the day calm down. When the pie was done and Jo had put the rest in the cabinet, she and Ellen excused themselves to bed. Dean was tired but Ash asked if he wanted to watch a movie, so Dean agreed. They sat in the living room and Ash had left to grab the movie and his laptop. Ash popped in the film and sat down next to Dean and opened the computer. The movie started and Dean realized that it was one that had not come out yet, he had seen billboards for it when he had been driving around earlier that week.

"How did you get this?" Dean asked quietly.

"With my magic skills," Ash smirked.

"Oh," Dean said, not understanding.

"I'm kinda a genius Dean," Ash told him as his fingers clicked away on the keyboard. Dean didn't know much about computers but he knew that Ash's looked different, almost like he had made it himself. Dean turned his attention back to the movie, but he couldn't concentrate on it. He keep glancing over at Ash until the other man had finally had enough.

"What do you need Dean?" Ash sighed.

"N-nothing," Dean stuttered. "I just, just was wondering what you can do with your computer."

"Anything," Ash replied proudly.

"Anything?" Dean repeated.

"That's what I said. I've been working on hacking into the FBI today. Yesterday I got into the CIA, but the FBI has slightly more sophisticated software. Shouldn't take more then a day or two to break in." Ash said with a wink, then cocked an eyebrow at Dean. "Was there something you want me to do? You need a fake ID or somethin'? Cause I gotta say that's kiddie stuff. I rather like a challenge, like getting the President's number and prank calling him, now _that_ was a great day!"

"Could you make someone disappear?" Dean said instantly, then realized what he had said and covered his mouth with his hands. Dean slowly let his hands down and swallowed hard. He believed that Ash would not hurt him, but still the fear lingered. But, _this_ was something he had been praying for, someone who could hack into his life and change it. Dean didn't know how much Ash could get him, but even if he got a little, it was enough.

"Dean you can tell me," Ash said gently, seeing that Dean was now fidgeting and looking afraid.

"Can you erase someone?" Dean nearly whispered. "Can you make someone never be born?"

"Yeah, yeah I could do that," Ash said his voice as low as Dean's. "Do you want to disappear?"

"No, not me," Dean said then looked at the floor. "My brother."

Dean did not know why he was saying these things. He could get himself or Sammy killed by telling Ash this, but this was his chance. Ash had the ability to get Sam out of their fathers reach. Dean knew that he needed to tell Ash a reason for why he wanted Sam to disappear, he didn't want to tell the truth, the truth was never good, but there didn't seem to be a logical lie at hand.

"I need to protect him form my father," Dean began. "My dad hates him, and I'm afraid that my dad will hurt him if he stays with us any longer."

"Does your dad hurt you?" Ash asked after a log moment of silence.

"Yes," Dean said, and then regretted it. The look on Ash's face made him feel sick.

"Dean if you dad is hurting you, you can't go back to him," Ash said and placed a soft hand on Dean's knee, then quickly removed it when he saw Dean's discomfort at the touch. "You can stay here with Ellen, Jo and me, I bet Ellen will even let your brother stay."

"No," Dean said. "I just need Sam safe."

"Sam," Ash muttered. The genius shut his eyes and took a deep breath then faced Dean with resolve. "Okay, tell me what you want."

"Really?" Dean asked not sure if Ash was lying or not.

"Yeah, I trust you Dean and if you think that this is best for you and Sam, then okay." Ash said, although Dean could hear the break in his voice as he spoke.

They spent the rest of the night creating a new identity for Sam. Dean made sure that there was a record of Sam's schooling, and that all his after school programs were recorded in the fake life they were making.

"He'll need a new last name," Ash said.

"Oh," Dean said back and thought about it for a while. "Campbell."

"Okay Sam Campbell, coming right up," Ash said and clicked away on the computer. "Okay what about parents names?"

"Um," Dean paused.

"Never mind I got it," Ash smiled and typed something. "Congrats Dean we are the proud parents of Sammy Campbell," he laughed and showed Dean the screen. Dean could see the fake birth certificate that they were working on and the parents names written there were Asher and Deanna Campbell. Dean gave a small smile and allowed Ash to leave it how it was. Ash then pulled up Sam's real birth certificate and erased it from existence. Dean felt his heart plummet, it was like killing his brother. Ash then proceeded to delete anything that had Sam Winchesters name on it. Any school announcements that mentioned him were gone and replaced by Sam Campbell.

"How much?" Dean asked softly when Ash had taken his hands from the keys.

"What?" Ash responded.

"How much will all this cost?" Dean continued. "Cause I've got a couple thousand saved up and I could get you more but it would just take a while, but I promise I'll pay, I promise."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa Dean calm down," Ash said with a nervous laugh. "It's gonna cost a bit to get these things printed out, like the birth certificate, and social security, but I can cover you if you need?"

"No, no I can pay," Dean said. "How much?"

"Uhh," Ash paused then squinted at the screen and pointed a few times. "Probably four or five hundred."

"Okay," Dean said

"Look I can really pay for some," Ash offered.

"I can afford that," Dean said. "I thought it would have been more honestly." Dean smiled at Ash, and Ash nodded back.

By the time the sun had risen Dean and Ash had complied the complete life of Sam Campbell. Ash told Dean that he would get the papers printed by the next morning, and that they would be as real as fake could be. Dean felt a huge pressure lift from his chest. With these papers Sam was free, free from their father, free from their life. Ash excused himself to his bedroom, leaving Dean alone in the living room. The TV was still on but all that was playing was fuzz, and the random crackle of interference. Ash left his laptop on the coffee table and Dean stared at it. There was the new birth certificate stared back at him. Sam's new name and his and Ash's fake names were all written there and for a moment Dean couldn't believe that this was happening. He was so close to getting away, he figured once Sam was safe and far away he would tell. That or...well, Dean had thought about the other option many times. Once Sam was safe and living far away where their father couldn't find him, Dean was planning on killing himself. The thought had lingered in his mind for so many years that it wasn't as much of a thought more then it was a plan. Dean wasn't sure how he would do it but he was pretty sure he would. This life was so hard and he was only living for Sam and once Sam was gone he would be too.

Dean shut the laptop and got up. He went to the kitchen and began to make breakfast for the others. Since Ellen had been so nice to him, all he could do was return the favor. The smell of coffee drew Ellen from her room. Dean handed her a mug and she sat down at the table.

"Thank you Dean, but you really didn't need to do this," Ellen told him as she took a sip of her coffee.

"It's no problem," Dean told her. He took a plate from the cabinet and placed the eggs, bacon and the toast he had made on it, and gave it to Ellen. The woman smiled and began to eat as Jo came into the room. She hopped into her seat and waited happily as Dean served her.

"This is great!" Jo exclaimed, then turned to her mother. "Can we keep him?"

"Dean's not a dog Jo," Ellen snorted.

"I always wanted a big brother," Jo grinned at Dean, who gave her back a hesitant smile.

"Keep dreaming sweetheart," Ellen retorted.

Dean sat down with a cup of coffee and listened to the two women banter. He didn't mind the comment Ellen had made, sometimes Dean felt like a guard dog. Something who's only purpose was to protect, then when it dies you can get a new one. The girls talked and Dean was drawn back to the time when he and Sam had escaped to Sam's friend Jimmy's house. The comfort and the feelings Dean was having at the moment were about the same as the time he had spent there. This was a family, Ellen, Jo and Ash, they were family. Dean wondered if he would ever get this, then instantly knew he never would, so instead he hoped that one day Sam would.


	5. Show a Scar

The day continued like the one before, Dean helped Ellen out around her house then when she mentioned her car wasn't working he offered to take a look for her. Working with cars was easy for Dean, they didn't talk back, and they didn't judge him. When working on a car Dean had some peace. He spent most of the afternoon outside, the summer sun hit his back and a steady sweat began to build up. He thought about taking off his shirt but then shot the idea down. If he had been alone it would have been fine, but he did not want Ellen, Jo or Ash to see his body. There were old scars and the new bruises from the man he had sex with the other night. Dean let the sweat soak into his shirt and wiped it from his brow, keeping mind of the makeup that covered his scar.

Dean shut the hood of the old Dodge he was working on and hopped into the drivers seat and turned on the car. It started up and sounded good to Dean, though in his honest opinion the car needed to be burned, nothing that ugly should be allow on the road. He shut off the car and went back to tell Ellen that the job was done. She thanked Dean then told him to go shower and get ready for the night. Dean stepped into the hot shower and soaked in the steam that surrounded him. When he was clean he got out of the shower and dried off. The mirror was fogged over so Dean wiped it away. He looked tired, his eyes were heavy and deep, but he didn't feel that way. Dean felt content, happy even, he just wished his outside appearance would reflect his inside. He knew that his outside would always be flawed, sacred. He brushed a hand over his side and felt the scar from the knife wound his father had given him last year. It was an ugly wound, all puckered and ragged from not healing right. Dean pushed at the injury, almost like it would wipe away like the fog on the mirror.

Dressed once more and scar hidden, he made his way down to the bar. It was a Sunday night and Ellen had told him not to expect many people. The night started like the last few, people slowly came and went, but instead of having a large rush of people, it stayed at the meandering pace. Dean tried to clean slow so that he would have something to do, but by nine o' clock there were two regulars and no one else. Dean was beginning to get bored with the emptiness of the bar. Sure, he didn't much care for the overwhelming amount of people, but he like to have something to do. Ash called over to Dean from behind the bar and beckoned him over.

"Hey man,"Ash said his voice a little hushed. "So I know I said the money wasn't an issue, but I'm gonna need it now, if you got it."

"Of course," Dean said. "It's in my car. I'll go get it. Five hundred right?"

"Yeah," Ash said. "Only if you got it."

"I got it," Dean said then disappeared outside.

He could spare five hundred dollars. Five hundred was nothing in the long run, Dean thought to himself. He was only a few steps away from his car when a hand fell on his shoulder. Dean turned fast and shook the hand off. It was the man from the last night, and the night before. He grabbed Dean's arm quickly and pulled him further away from the bar. Dean began to fight. He yelled for Ash and Ellen, as he kicked and punched at the man. The man's eyes were feral, Dean could smell the alcohol on him, as well as smoke from cigarettes. They got about fifty feet further away from the bar when the man threw Dean into the hood of a car. The air left Dean's lungs so suddenly he couldn't move. The man pulled up his shirt and breath returned to Dean. He rolled off the hood and to the ground. He pushed his feet into the dirt and tried to propel himself away. He was to slow, the man knocked a fist into his head and sent him back to the earth. Dean lay on his stomach, trying desperately to breath, as the man loomed over him. His face was then pushed into the dirt and there was a heavy weight on his legs. Dean struggled, and struggled, and struggled, until his head was spinning from the lack of oxygen. He lay a little limp and didn't really notice when his pants were pulled down. He did feel the man's hands on his back and the awful babble that dripped from his mouth flowed to Dean's ears.

Ash would notice that he was gone, Dean kept telling himself. The man had gripped Dean's hands behind his back and held tight to his wrists as he lined himself up with Dean's body. Dean tensed and shook as he struggled against the man. He swore at him and tried to buck him off, but the strength of the drunk man was too much for the young man. When he entered, Dean screamed. The man let go of Dean's wrists and slammed Dean's head back into the earth. With a mouthful of dirt Dean tried to scream again. This time he was thrown back to the ground by the force of the man's thrust. Dean choked on dirt and tears that were cascading from his eyes. God, he wanted to die. _Please, let me die, please, please, please..._ For one blissful moment Dean thought that he might actually be dying, the world was fading, the pain was ending and his body was numb and light. Then the man stopped.

The world began to come back, as did the pain. There was shouting and it wasn't him this time. The weight of the man left his body but a painful reminder of where he had been stayed. With his body free Dean tried to push himself over, but he couldn't. His arms were shaking to bad to support any of his weight and his eyes were unfocused from the tears. A gentle hand then lay on his shoulder. Dean, with the little strength he had, ducked away from the touch. There was a mummer of a voice, it wasn't the man's, it was a women's.

"Mom?" Dean slurred out. The voice stopped but the hand returned. It pushed Dean over onto his side and Dean could see the outline of a women. "Mom?" Dean asked again. Had he died? Dean wasn't sure, he couldn't think anymore, he didn't want to. He didn't want to do anything anymore, so he slept.

Dean had never been in a hospital before. Or if he had he didn't remember. He opened his eyes to speckled grey walls and a sterile smell. Hospitals were bad, Dean knew that much. He knew that being in a hospital meant doctors and that doctors ask questions and the answers of those questions led to cops, who Dean did not want to meet. He was alone in the little room but the door was open and Dean could see as people passed by. He slowly sat up and winced in pain. The events of earlier flooded back and Dean leaned over the side of the bed and threw up. He continued to spit out mucus and anything else that his stomach could not longer hold.

The eldest Winchester son stared down at the vomit. It made him dizzy and the urge to throw up again crept up on him. Dean pulled away from the side of the bed and folded in on himself, his forehead touched his knees and his arms wrapped tightly around his middle. Crying soon followed. The tears leaked from his eyes silently, only his shoulders shook as he sobbed.

That was how Ellen found him. She paused at the door then entered silently. She sat next to Dean on the small bed and winced as the young man flinched away from her. She reached her arms out and pulled Dean to her breast. Dean tried to get away but Ellen did not let him go. After a moment he collapsed into her. His arms were wrapped around her back and his face was ducked into her collar bone. Ellen pet his hair and murmured words into Dean's ear. Dean wasn't sure how long he held on to the women, it could have been hours, but when he was out of tears and his arms hurt from the embrace he let her go. Ellen allowed distance to appear between them but kept her hands on Dean's forearms. Dean's eyes were bright red and cloudy from tears, he sniffed a little and Ellen reached up and wiped away stray tears from his cheeks. She offered a small smile to the boy.

"You are very brave Dean," Ellen told him. Dean looked away from her. If there was one thing Dean knew he was most certainly not, it was brave. He turned out of her embrace and set his gaze at the window to his left. Ellen held onto his shoulder and continued to talk. Dean refused to listen. Any words she spoke wafted by his ears and dissipated into the empty space of the room. When she realized that Dean was not going to talk to her Ellen patted Dean's shoulder then moved to leave the room. Without even thinking Dean shot his hand out and grabbed her shirt before she could get to far. Ellen sat back down on the bed as fast as she could. She placed her hand over Dean's and allowed the boy to continue to be silent, but to have her company. Dean didn't know why he had pulled Ellen back to him. He wanted to be alone, then faster than lighting, he needed someone to hold on to, desperately, achingly.

They sat together until a doctor entered the room. Ellen could feel Dean's hand tense in her's as the unfamiliar man came in. Dean shot the doctor looks but never spoke to him. He and Ellen talked for awhile, sad expressions stone on their faces. The doctor approached Dean, who jumped back in the bed, hitting the back of the wall. His hand left Ellen's and he felt more alone then ever before. The doctor stopped but held his ground. The man began to speak but Dean could not hear a word he was saying. He watched distantly as the doctor's mouth moved but fail to make sense of any words. He could feel his entire body trembling, his hands grasped the sheets to try and quell the shaking. He wanted to leave, he needed to leave. The room was too crowded, too clean, too small...

Dean threw his legs over the side of the bed and tried to jump away. He misjudged his strength though, his legs collapsed under him, sending his knees to met the linoleum far to fast. Dean recovered quickly and forced himself towards the door. The IV needle tore from his arm causing him to cry out in shock. As he grabbed his injured arm two strong hands caught his upper arms. Dean screamed, a hallow aching sound emerged from his throat. The hands did not let go, even as Dean pulled and fought to escape them. He _needed_ to get out. The door was so close but he couldn't take another step. Soon the door was blocked by more people, people who grabbed him and tried to hold him down. The doorway then started to blur as tears fell from Dean's eyes, then it faded completely as the drugs took control.

Dean awoke alone again. The door to his room was shut and Dean wondered if it was locked. He got out of the bed and sturdied himself before trying to take a step. When his footing was secured Dean slipped the IV from his arm. He rubbed the puncture point then began to look around the room for his clothes. He found them in the tiny bedside table, neatly folded and launder. He figured that Ellen must have cleaned them, she was the only one he thought would do that for him.

Newly dressed Dean tried the door, it was locked from the outside as he thought. He looked out the window and winced as he saw he was on the third floor, _no chance of getting out that way_, Dean thought. Dean dug around the room looking for something that he could pick a lock with. With uncanny luck Dean pulled a hair pin from under the bed. He made quick work of the lock and once out he locked the door back up. He walked slowly down the hallways, making sure not to draw attention to himself. He followed the exit signs until he could see daylight flickering through glass doors. Once outside he ran. His body ached and screamed at him to stop but he couldn't, not until he was far enough away.

Blocks away Dean had to stop when he ran out of strength. He stood on the sidewalk catching his breath for long moments. When he had composed himself he stuck out his thumb and waited for someone to pick him up.

Dean knew he should have stayed at the hospital, his body wasn't healed yet, nor was his mind. Dean knew that he was already fucked up, but this...this made it so much worse. The more he thought about it the more anxiety ridden he became. He stumbled back away from the road and tucked himself down into a ball. He pressed his face into his knees and screamed. Anger and rage mixed with fear and hurt as all other emotions ran rampaging though his head. When he was able to control his breathing he worked on controlling his mind. He pushed the last few days as far away as he could, hiding them in dark conners where he hoped never to venture into again. Dean also knew he was just biding time with this method. He had tried to do the same with the information that his father was a murderer, but alas that shadow was going to follow him until death.

Dean stood back up with some trouble, his knees didn't want to work and his back side pulsed. Dean feared he might be bleeding. He stuck his thumb out once more and waited.

Not more than an hour later someone finally stopped for him. A station wagon with wood paneling pulled up beside Dean. A middle aged man peered at him from the drivers seat. Dean hesitated a moment before he approached the car, holding back a wince as he did. When he got closer he could see the man's white collar and Dean's shoulders released some tension as he was more trusting to a Pastor then he would have been to another trucker or passerby. Dean opened the door and got in with his head low.

"Where are you heading to?" The Father asked.

"Just out of town," Dean mumbled. "Trying to get to the Roadhouse, you know it?"

"Yes I know it," the Father replied. "Why do you want to go there?"

"My friend lives there," Dean said, effectively cutting off his side of the conversation. The Father smiled then moved the car down the street.

"Name's Jim," the Father announced. "Don't reckon I could interest you in coming down to the church for a warm meal? Looks like you could use it."

"Sorry, no," Dean said as he turned in his seat towards the window. His body was betraying him, he want to have confidence, prove to the Pastor that he was fine, but he was beginning to shake again, with fear, anxiety or exhaustion he did not know.

"You okay kid?" Jim asked, seeing the young man tremble. "Do you need a doctor?"

"No!" Dean grunted out. "I just need to go home."

"Where's home?" Jim questioned.

"I don't know," Dean bit out in a whisper.

Tears threatened to fall so Dean closed his eyes. _Home_, Dean thought bitterly, _where am I ever going to find that? _Jim clenched his jaw as the young man began to rock himself. He knew he should take him to a hospital, or even back to the church but he didn't, he kept driving heading towards the Roadhouse. As the town disappeared and the Roadhouse was nearing Jim spoke up.

"Look here," he began. "I don't know what troubling you, but I do want you to know that God has a plan for all of us. Even if you don't think he does. Like the saying goes, He works in mysterious ways. Things may look bad now, but if you believe that God has a plan then there is hope for you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Dean listened but said nothing to the Father's little speech. The Roadhouse came into view and Dean sat up a little more in his seat.

"Have a little faith, that's all thats needed," Jim said with a smile. He pulled the car up to the front of the bar and waited for Dean to get out. Dean paused before getting out. He opened and closed his mouth a few time before finding he strength to speak.

"Thank you for the ride Father," Dean said solemnly then left. There was more Dean wanted to say but he knew none of those words would ever leave his lips.

Dean hurried into the bar and, with great pain, up the stairs then into his room. He shoved his bag full then fled, only stopping to see on the coffee table next to Ash's laptop was a folder tilted "Sam Campbell. " Dean flipped it open to find everything he and Ash had worked on the other night. Birth certificate, social security, everything. The breath caught in the throat as he held his little brothers life in his hands. Dean bolted out of the bar and flew to his car. He threw his bag in the back opened the glove compartment and took out the money he owed Ash, plus more for Ellen (who in Dean's mind deserved some compensation for putting up with him) and replaced it with Sam's file. Dean ran back into the bar and upstairs once more. He could feel blood dripping down his left leg as the stairs took their toll. He staggered over to the coffee table and left the money on top of the computer.

Back outside the blood was reaching his ankle. Dean bit back a cry of pain as he sat down in his car. He would have to clean up the blood at some point, but now was not the time to worry about that. Dean took off in his car, dust flew out behind him as he exited the town and didn't look back. When he was far enough away he allowed tears to sail down his face, a mixture of sorrow and happiness. For, he hated his life so much, but he had saved Sam's. As he drove down the interstate he kept a mantra in his head. _Thank God, thank God, thank God._

_Monument, Colorado 2005_

The silence in the interrogation room was echoed in the observation room. Henricksen sat back in his chair, unable to utter a single word the entire time Dean was speaking. Even after he had finished his story there were still no words to say. Henricksen caught himself staring at the young man, analyzing him and wondering how on earth this boy was still alive. Dean was curled in on himself a bit, shoulders hunched, face blank and eyes focused on the ground. Henricksen sat up in his chair, causing Dean's eyes to flick up for the smallest of seconds. The FBI agent clasped his hands together on top of the table and gave a great sigh. He looked over to the camera that was still recording, the little red blinking light hypnotic. In the view finder Dean was off to one side as if he were trying to disappear. Henricksen took a deep breath then spoke first.

"Dean," he began then hesitated. "You...you said that this story was about Sam, that this was Sam's story, right?"

Dean nodded but refused to say anything. Henricksen wondered if he was having a breakdown.

"That wasn't Sam's story," Henricksen told him seriously. "That was yours."

The young man shook his head.

"It's Sam's," Dean said softly. "It's how I saved Sam's life. That's all that matters to me."

"It really is isn't it," Henricksen said amazed.

Henricksen let it soak, the words, the story, the flood of emotion that filled the room. Dean had wrapped his arms around his middle like a child who was nervous. The silence was not uncomfortable, although Henricksen knew he needed to break it soon, or else Reidy would come in and fuck this all up. Henricksen cleared his throat but had nothing to say, he couldn't think of any other question to ask the man in front of him. It was clear to the FBI agent that Dean was innocent, the confession on tape was proof enough for him, but for others he knew that there had to be more to Dean Winchester's story then what was only on the tape. Henricksen was about to ask Dean if he wanted another break, when the door flew open.

A woman bust in and all but ran to the table and snatched up the video camera. Henricksen had no time to stop her, and Dean recoiled at the sudden action. The women snapped the camera closed and pushed the off button much to hard.

"What in God's name are you doing?" Henricksen yelled as he jumped away from the table and grabbed hold of the woman's wrist. Then he noticed he was wearing an officer uniform. He shook his head not understanding and asked her again, "what are you doing?"

"This video has been broadcast across the internet," she said solemnly. "I got a call from my husband a couple minuets ago telling me that one of his friends sent him the video, sayin' it was the confession of the Cross Country Killer. It's viral now, spreadin' like wildfire."

Dean's stomach dropped. He could feel bile rise in his throat, which he swallowed down quickly. Henricksen's face grew red with anger, he wanted to throw the camera against the wall, instead he took a deep breath and let it out fast.

"God dammit," Henricksen swore as the other agents entered the room. They all argued with each other, placing blame and trying to figure out how someone had gotten the video, as they spoke they all cast looks a Dean. Dean knew some still believed that he was a murderer despite the confession.

"What's your name officer?" Henricksen asked the woman who had first come in.

"Sheriff actually. Mills, Jody Mills," she replied.

"Sheriff Mills, could you get your husband on the phone? We need to get as much information as possible right now."

" 'course," Sheriff Mills said. She pulled out her cell phone and punched a few buttons and held it up to her ear. While she waited she watched Dean. He nervously sat there his hands gripping his jeans, eyes jetting from one person to another. No one spoke to Dean, they all had more important things to do. When Sheriff Mills' husband answered the phone she handed it to Henricksen with out a word. Henricksen took the phone and questioned the man on the other end. Jody edged over to Dean and placed a hand on the table near him, but not touching him.

"It'll be alright," she soothed. Dean gave her an incredulous look.

"It's never alright," Dean bit back.

Jody grimaced, he was right, from what she had listen to of his story, his life would never be alright, for this young man there was no such thing.

The debate of FBI and officers settled down, there was no answer to who had released the video yet but Henricksen knew it was only a matter of time before they found them. He now had to deal with Dean. It would be to dangerous for Dean to stay there. Once the reporters saw the tape they would come in breaking down the door, just to get the story. Henricksen chewed on his lip as he thought about what to do. He went back over to the table and picked up the camera. He glared at the inanimate object as if it would tell him all the answers.

"Sam," Dean said hesitantly.

"What about him?" The FBI agent asked. Dean was worried, Henricksen could see it all over his face.

"I told about Sam," Dean said to his hands, tears reaching the corners of his eyes.

Henricksen paused for a moment trying to figured out what Dean meant, then it hit him so fast and hard.

"Shit!" Henricksen cursed. "Dean where is Sam?"

"I don't know," Dean said softly. Henricksen reached out and grabbed Dean by the shoulders and shook him. Dean gasped and tried to pull himself away from the FBI agent.

"Don't lie to me now Dean," Henricksen said gravely. The others in the small room turned to watch was was happening. "I know you want to save your brother but if you don't tell me where he is we can't help you or him."

"I don't know," Dean's voice shook as he answered. "I really don't. He left and I made him promise to never tell me where he was going. Made him promise not to call me or send any letters. I haven't seen Sam in years."

Henricksen released Dean shoulders and they came crashing down. The young man curled in on himself and refused to met anyones eyes.

"Dammit," Henricksen swore again. "Reidy get a team together, we need to find Sam Campbell ASAP. If we don't find him first...never mind, just find him first."

Reidy and a couple others took off out of the room and Dean chanced a glance up to watch them leave. Dean and Henricksen both knew that John Winchester could no longer harm Dean or Sam but that didn't mean that the public couldn't. The faster the found Sam the better things would turn out for the brothers.

The rest of the people began to filter out of the room until it was only Dean, Henricksen and Jody. Jody felt responsible for the fear racking Dean's body and that guilt forced her to stay.

"We need to get you somewhere safe," Henricksen said to Dean. Dean looked up, confused.

"Safe?" He questioned.

"Yeah," Henricksen sighed. "Soon as that video is seen by enough people you won't be safe here, even if it's a police station. Reporters are ruthless, they just want a story don't much care how many rules they break to get it."

"Okay," Dean agreed.

"He can stay with my husband," Jody offered. Henricksen cocked an eyebrow. "He's got no real interest in the case, plus our place is a bit out of the way, not many people head that way unless they know it."

"Fine," Henricksen agreed quickly, he knew that finding another place for Dean to stay would be difficult. There weren't many safe houses in the area and he figured that not many would be willing to take in the boy. "Go pull a street car around back, we'll sneak him out that way."

Jody left he room briskly as Henricksen turned back to Dean. The young man was fidgeting in his seat.

"Do...do I need to wear the handcuffs?" Dean asked, as he rubbed his wrist subconsciously.

"No," Henricksen answered. "Follow me."

Together they left the interrogation room. The people outside stared at Dean as he walked past. He kept his head down, trying his hardest not to draw attention to himself. Henricksen stayed close to the boy, his eyes scanned the rubberneckers to seek out who had released the video. They got to the back of the station and Henricksen opened the door. For a brief moment he thought Dean would make a run for it, Dean also thought he might. The darkness of the night was inviting, so easily he could disappear into the near forests. Henricksen grounding himself and allowed a moment to pass where he would have let Dean run if he wanted to. Henricksen knew that Dean could probably make it on his own, that he would live alone until the end of his day and no one would be the wiser as to where he was. But Dean did not run. His eyes flicked up to Henricksen's then back to the ground. He couldn't run now, not when Sam was in trouble.

Jody pulled up her car next to the men. Henricksen opened the back door and Dean got in. the FBI agent hesitated a second before sitting down in the car as well.

"You're coming with us?" Jody asked, confused by the agents actions.

"For a while," Henricksen replied. He looked to the review mirror and caught Dean's reflection. The boy was pale and jumpy, Henricksen felt an instinct to protect him. He and Sheriff Mills exchanged glances, then Jody drove them away from the station, leaving the reporters to grasp for a story that wasn't there.


	6. Tell me a Secret, Tell me a Lie

Jody had been right about her place being out of the way. It took over forty minutes to get there and when they did arrive Henricksen was itching to get out of the car. Dean on the other hand was at ease in the vehicle. He would have actually preferred to stay in the car rather than go inside the house.

Tucked along a dark road was Jody's home, they pulled in under a sign that read; 'Singer's Salvage.' As they moved up the driveway mounds of old car lined their way. Dean perked up at the sight.

"You own this place?" Henricksen asked.

"No Bobby does," Jody replied as they stopped in front of the house. "I have no real like for cars, but it does help put food on the table."

Henricksen nodded at their small talk then got out of the car. He opened the back door for Dean as Jody ran inside to get her husband. Henricksen watched as Dean stepped out and grappled for his barrings, he could see Dean's mind turn as ways to escape formed and places to hide were locked into memory. He imagined that this was how Dean met every new place he had ever been, with suspect and fear. Jody appeared on the porch and waved them inside. Henricksen went first and Dean close behind. The same innate feeling to protect Dean followed him in.

The house was cluttered, books filled the walls and lay about on coffee tables, some open some half falling over. There were mugs and beer bottles scatted around as well.

"Sorry about the mess," Jody shrugged. "We don't usually have company. And Bobby's not much for cleaning."

Dean scanned the house, it was slightly dark but the feeling of a home was vividly present. A gruff looking man came out from where Dean supposed the kitchen was. He held a mug in his hand and a frown on his face. He sized up Henricksen then his eyes turned to Dean, who he merely gave a passing glance.

"Only got one extra bed," Bobby grunted out. "One of ya' is gonna have to tough it out on the couch."

"I won't be staying," Henricksen assured Bobby. Henricksen caught a flash of fear in Dean's eyes as he said that. "I need to ask you a few more questions before I leave Dean. You have somewhere we can sit down?" He directed at Bobby.

Bobby jerked a thumb over his shoulder into the kitchen. Henricksen nodded and walked into the other room. Dean tried to follow close but Bobby was still mostly in the door way. Dean edged by the other man, being sure not to touch him. Bobby made no motion, only allowed Dean to move around him. Jody past her husband and patted his chest in a loving manner. Henricksen pulled out one of the four chairs form the small table in the kitchen and motioned for Dean to sit next to him. Instead Dean sat across from him, Henricksen made no objections. The FBI agent tapped his finger on the table top a few times before speaking.

"Dean, I know you know this is serious, so you need to tell me everything. The last time you saw Sam, where was he going, where did you send him Dean? You have to give me something. If you don't someone else is going to find him. I know you don't want that, not after all the shit you went through to get him out of your life. So tell me Dean, where is Sam?"

"I don't know," Dean said.

"Dammit Dean!" Henricksen said shortly. "You've protected your brother your entire life, let someone else help out for a change."

"No, I really don't. I haven't seen Sam in four...maybe five years. He got a scholarship to a school, don't know which one, and I gave him all the money I had saved up for him and pretty much pushed him out the door. I told him not to look back, and I never looked for him. Never...not in years. I let Sam go so that if Dad decided to make good on all his promises he would have no clue where Sam was, because I had no clue either. I would kill to know where Sam is now, to know how he is, but it's too risky. It's not worth it to find him, just so I can fear losing him all over again.

When you find him..._if_ you find him, don't let me see him. I don't want to know anything about Sam. He's gone, I wanna keep it that way. It's better, even if I hate not knowing, its better for Sam. So you can question him and get what ever you need from him, but don't let me know where he is, and don't let him know where I am."

Three pairs of eyes stared down the youngest. Jody bit her lip and folded her arms around her chest, when that didn't do enough to comfort her she took out the kettle, filled it and set it on the stove. The gas oven ticked to life as Bobby sat down at the table with Dean and Henricksen, he sighed and scratch his beard.

"Boy," Bobby began. "Now I don't know ya', don't even wanna pretend to know ya', but I saw that video of you talkin' about your life and your brother and from what I gathered you gave up your own life so that your brother could have one. See here, if your brother has watched that tape and now knows what you've done for him, I'm thinkin' he'll want to see you. He won't care about much else other than his brother is alive."

"I just want him safe," Dean whispered.

"And you did that," Bobby quipped. "He's safe, your father ain't got his claws in him, wasn't that what you were trying to save him from?"

Dean's silence held more questions than answers. Henricksen pushed for an answer but Dean refused to speak. The FBI agent grimaced, getting no closer to Sam he knew he should leave, get back to the station and quell what he knew was chaos. But before he could remove himself from the table Jody set down two cups of tea. Henricksen settled back down and slowly drank. It was chamomile, not his favorite, but it was warm and Henricksen had been awake for over twenty-four hours. He forced himself not to fall into the relaxing arms of sleep right there at the table. Henricksen shot a glace to Dean who was following in suit. His eyes were drooping, his body and mind probably more exhausted than Henricksen was.

"We should get going," Henricksen said as he stood. "Thank you for the tea." He told Jody.

"When will you come back for me?" Dean asked quietly.

"When I have things under control." Henricksen replied, then turned to Bobby. "Thanks for letting him stay here. Call me if there's anything you need."

Henricksen handed Bobby his card, which Bobby took and slid onto the table. Henricksen nodded to Bobby then to Dean. There was fear in Dean's eyes and his hands were tight around his tea cup. For a moment Henricksen thought about staying, he wanted to protect Dean. It was stupid, really it was, this feeling that Henricksen had. Not hours ago he had hated this man, now everything was different. He shoved those thoughts aside, clenched his jaw, turned and left. Jody kissed her husband goodbye and followed the FBI agent out.

The silence between Dean and Bobby could have cut glass. Dean was on full alert, every motion Bobby made was carefully watched.

"Well come on kid," Bobby got up. "I'll show you your room."

Bobby headed out of the room and Dean hurried to catch up. The older man trudged up the stairs with Dean close behind. As he walked Dean looked at the few photos on the walls. They were mostly of places, no people were in them. A beach in one and a forest in another. They reached the top of the stairs and Bobby steered them to the left. The first door the came to Bobby opened. A whirl of dust flew away from the door, as if it hadn't been opened in ages.

"Don't mind the dust," Bobby grunted. "Ain't had visitors in...in a while."

Bobby moved into the room and shook out the blanket that was on the bed. More dust filled the room. He and Dean both coughed.

"Maybe you'd be safer on the couch," Bobby shrugged.

"It's fine," Dean told him

"If you say. Well I'll let you catch some sleep," with that Bobby dropped the blanket and headed out pausing in the doorway. "Let me know if you need anything son."

Then he was gone, and Dean's breath had caught in his throat. He spun to look at the empty doorway, mouth slightly gaping. No one had _ever_ called him _son_ before.

Dean couldn't sleep through the night. He slept for a few hours then woke in a cold sweat. Nightmares of Sam and their father plagued him. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his feet. He got up and went over to the window. Outside there was a field of car and beyond that was forest. Dean thought about running for a long time. He itched to get out of this house, to run into the forest and disappear from existence, but he couldn't, not yet.

He got back in the bed and closed his eyes. He wished he could sleep away the hours but he knew that wouldn't happen. Instead he lay there until the sun rose and he heard the sounds of Bobby moving around. Once he hear the older man go down the stairs he got up and made his way down as well.

Dean peered into the kitchen, not making himself know yet. From there he watched as Bobby made coffee and flipped through a newspaper. He could barely make it out, but on the paper he was sure the front page had his father's face on it. Dean stepped into the room, he needed to know what that paper said. Bobby looked up as Dean entered.

"Help yourself to coffee, and if you want anything else, you'll have to make it," he said gesturing to the coffee maker.

Dean nodded and went to the coffee maker and poured himself a mug full. It was hot, bitter and burned on the way down. Dean took the same seat he had the night before and waited patiently for Bobby to be done with the paper. The older man noticed Dean staling glaces at the paper and heaved a sigh.

"Figured you want to know what's going on," Bobby said and slid the cover story over to Dean, keeping the rest for himself.

The newspaper crinkled in his hands, there was also a stain from a cup being placed on top of it, the circle stain overlapping John's right eye. In the picture John had a smile on his face. It was taken outside the police station yesterday, and in the background Dean could see himself. He was just a pale blur following his father. The headline read; CROSS COUNRTY KILLER CAUGHT. Dean grimaced at the title then began to read.

_Written by, __Cassie Robinson_

_The country can sleep easy tonight, as mere hours ago the Cross Country Killer was taken into custody. The convicted man, John Winchester, was found in __Monument__ Colorado by FBI agent Henricksen and his team. New information has been released that Winchester was not working alone. It appears that his son, Dean Winchester has been at his side. Dean Winchester is also in custody. Police state that both men took part in the murders that crossed the states. Agent Henricksen was able to catch the assailants when John Winchester left a partial finger print at the scene of his last crime, the murder of Nancy Fitzgerald. While there was no evidence left behind that Dean Winchester was at the scene, it is clear to the officers that Winchester's son was a part of all the murders._

The story continued, but Dean didn't want to read anymore. Instead he stared at the picture of his father. The smile shook Dean to his core, although he knew his father could no longer get to him, the fear still lurked under the surface. His coffee was cold when he took another sip. He drank the rest of it then pushed the paper away from him. Bobby looked up from the sports page, fear radiated off the boy like waves. Dean watched the paper as if it were going to jump up and bit him. Bobby set his coffee cup down with a clunk, getting Dean's attention.

"I'm gonna be outside workin'," he said. "Ain't got cable, but we do have the local channels, and there's a couple movies laying about, if you want. Or feel free to read just about anything." Bobby finished. He got up and put his mug in the sink.

"What are you working on?" Dean asked softly. Bobby turned to the boy, not expecting him to speak.

"Cars. Got two or three out there needing fixing," he told Dean. Silence fell between the two. Bobby knew Dean wanted to say something so he waited for him.

"Can I come?" Dean asked so quietly the wine from the refrigerator was almost louder.

"Sure," Bobby said then turn to leave. "Follow me."

Together they left the kitchen and worked their way outside. It was a little cold, early morning mist was still lingering around the ground, licking at their feet. Bobby led Dean through a maze of cars to a garage that had one car up on stilts and two others covered. Bobby slid a creeper across the floor with his foot and pushed it near the car, then gestured to it.

"Go ahead, take a look." Bobby said. "Tell me what you see."

Dean did as he was told. He lay down on the creeper and slid under the car. He could only see Bobby's feet and he felt somewhat trapped under there. He took a few breaths to calm himself before looking at the car. Right away he could see the hand bar was too low, there was also something wrong with the rear axel, and the frame rail was a mess. This car was done in Dean opinion, but he wasn't sure what to say to Bobby.

"Come on son tell me what you see," Bobby said.

"Umm," Dean responded. "The, the uh frame rail..."

"Yeah the frame rail, what else?"

"The rear axel?"

"Yeah, that too," Bobby huffed a laugh. "This car's not worth savin' so I'm gonna scrape it for parts. Come on out from there. You ever take apart a car before?

"No," Dean said as he got off the creeper.

"Well I'll show you how."

Bobby did just that. They spent hours in the garage, with Bobby talking and Dean listening. Bobby was a born teacher. He explained things slow when it was complicated and then let Dean have free rein when he knew the boy knew what he was doing. Dean took up the information almost faster then Bobby could give it out. No one had ever taught him something like this. No one had showed him how to ride a bike, drive a car, or even tie his own shoes. Everything Dean knew, he had taught himself. He taught Sam everything though, everything Dean knew he had passed it off to his brother as quick as he could.

By midday Dean had worked up a sweat, the early October sun shown bright on the young man. Bobby wiped his brow with a dirty rag leaving grease across his forehead.

"Lets head in," Bobby said moving towards the house. "We can come back out if you want later, when it's cooler."

Dean nodded and followed Bobby back through the mess of cars. He wanted a shower, badly. The day before Henricksen had found them he had been locked in the motel room for two days. Sure he had gotten a shower then but if felt so long ago, and he ached to have a warm shower. The motels they stayed at usually did not have much warm water, if any, and if Dean took that warm water for himself John would not be happy. Back inside the house Dean shuffled a bit, struggling to ask for something so simple as a shower.

"You need somethin' son?" Bobby asked, catching on to the awkwardness of the boy.

"Uh-," Dean swallowed hard and closed his eyes before trying to speak again. "A, um, shower? I mean...could I? Please?"

"Sure," Bobby said with a slight smile. "Knock yourself out."

"Thank you," Dean said earnestly, then hurried up the stairs to the bathroom.

Turning on the shower Dean reach out a hand and felt as the water warmed. A small smile appeared on his face. Dean slowly stripped himself of the sweat dampened clothes. He folded them up neatly and placed them on the ground. He stepped into the spray of water and let out a long sigh of relief. Dirt, sweat and grease swirled its way down the drain, leaving clean skin behind. He wasn't sure how long he had been standing there, but when his fingers were winkled he got out. He plucked a towel from the rack and dried off his hair first. Dean then realized that he had no clean clothes with him. He wrapped the towel around his waist and stared down at the dirty clothes he had just taken off. Sighing he reached for them. Before he even bent down the door opened and Bobby stood there holding a pair of pants and a shirt.

Dean watched as Bobby had opened his mouth to say something then froze and gaped for a moment staring at Dean. At his scars. Bobby's face twisted in horror and disgust.

"Jesus kid," Bobby breathed. He then set himself. "You okay?"

"Huh?" Dean responded, confused by the question.

"You still hurt?" Bobby elaborated. "Got any injuries that need tending to?"

"Oh. No they're all healed," Dean said, pulling an arm around his chest.

"Okay," Bobby said, although he sounded nothing next to okay. "I brought you some clothes, they'll be big, but their clean."

"Thanks," Dean muttered and took the offered clothes. Bobby then remained in the doorway staring at the scars littering the young man body. Dean back up a few feet, hoping Bobby would leave soon.

"Right, sorry." Bobby said quickly, turning on his heal and leaving, shutting the door behind him.

Dean changed, and Bobby was right, the clothes were much to big. Dean took the belt he had from his own pants and threaded it though the belt loops. The pants stayed up alright with the belt, but the shirt was another story. It hung low around his waist and the short sleeves went down to his elbows. But there were clean, and Dean couldn't ask for more. He put his dirty clothes him his room and when back down the stairs to where Bobby was. Dean found him in the living room watching the local news. He looked up and took in Dean's appearance.

"Might have to find you some clothes that fit, huh?" Bobby chided. Dean gave a shaky nod. "Come on sit down, I called Jody she's gonna bring some Chinese home later. Says the station is still hectic, some people think you escaped. But the reporters are well confused, got no clue about your whereabout, so that's good."

"What about my father?" Dean asked quietly.

"What about him," Bobby's voice harden.

"He's still there right?"

"Yeah he is, but not for long." Bobby turned back to the TV. "They're gonna move him to max-security prison in a couple days. Jody says that Henricksen fellow tried to interview him, but all he'd say was that it was you who killed all those people. But Henricksen knows the story now so he ain't believing a word the comes out of his mouth. There's still no word on your brother, if you were wondering. Got people out there looking, but seems that you hid him pretty well."

"I had to," Dean whispered. He than turned to the TV and watched as a news reporter spoke about school funds.

"I understand that, but do you really not know where he is?" Bobby turned in his seat to face Dean. "He's your brother, and what you have done for him, it doesn't fit that you would let him go so easy."

"It wasn't easy," Dean deadpanned. "Sam...Sam was the only thing keeping me alive."

Dean's voice shook violently. Bobby bit the side of his cheek and settled a hand on the young mans shoulder. Dean tensed at the touch, but made no movement to evade it.

"You can tell me son, if you want that is. I got no one to tell it back to. I won't tell Henricksen either, but I think you need to say this to someone. And, well, it don't have to be me, but you gotta tell someone someday at least."

Bobby took his hand off Dean and set it back in his own lap. Bobby was a smart man, he knew the terrors Dean had been through and what his little brother had meant to him. He could see through Dean like glass. Bobby figured that not many people had seen Dean like that before, or else someone would have done something, helped him, saved him. Or, maybe it was because the kid was so broken down that any shields he had procured before were now falling and wasting away. Either way Bobby was not one to leave someone rotting on the side of the road when he knew he could help them. He's usually good with people, but this was different. He'd helped Rufus with his divorce, and Jody when she lost her father, and loads of other people, the difference though, was those were normal problems, things that happen all the time to good and bad people, what had happened to Dean was not normal. Normal people's fathers were not murderers. Bobby didn't really know how to comfort this. There's the, 'I'm always there for you' that he gave to Rufus, and the, 'I'll love you forever' he gave to Jody, but there is no, 'Sorry you fathers a serial killer.'

"When Sam left..." Dean began slowly, than stopped. Bobby was surprised that the boy was actually going to talk to him.

"Go on son," Bobby encouraged.

"When Sam left I tried to kill myself," Dean choked out. Bobby waited for Dean to speak again, he didn't want to interrupt anything, so he just sat and listened. "I took pills, and woke up in the bathroom. It didn't work, and when dad...when dad found out that Sam was gone, he – he tried to kill me too. When I think about it, I don't know why I'm alive, I really don't."

"Dammit boy."

Bobby pulled Dean into a tight hug. Dean instinctively tried to get away, but Bobby's arms were big and strong. The older man tucked the young man into his chest. Dean relaxed slightly and listened to the heart beat of the other man. Bobby just held him, he made no notion to try and tell the boy things that he didn't need to hear. Dean hands came up and grasped Bobby's shirt tightly. He pressed his forehead into the other man wide chest. Dean didn't start crying, although he thought he was going to. Instead he focused on being away form his father, far away and safe. Bobby gently let him go. He left a hand on Dean's shoulder and gave him a comforting smile.

"You are going to be okay Dean," Bobby told him. "I can see it. You're strong, if you weren't you wouldn't be here today, but you are. That's something, don't let that get away. You understand?"

"I do," Dean said and he meant it. "I do."


	7. Walk Right In

All Henricksen wanted to do was sleep. He had been able to catch a few hours last night, but now he was awake and wishing he had never gotten up that morning. He was going over the people on duty last night, trying to figure out who had released the tape of Dean's confession. Most checked out although there were a few on his suspect list that he wanted to interview, but that could wait, there were more important thing to do, like find Sam Winchester.

There were people scouring the internet and phone books looking for Dean's younger brother. Under; Sam Winchester and Sam Campbell. They did find some young men by the name but it was hard to distinguish the right Sam. Each Sam had to be looked into, Henricksen didn't want to take any chances.

"Sir?" A voice from behind him asked. Henricksen tuned around in his chair to face the intruder. A fresh faced girl who worked as an intern stood in the doorway.

"Yeah," Henricksen said tiredly.

"Well – I think I know who got hold of that tape." She said.

"Who?" Henricksen said sharply, now more awake.

"Ron," She said. "Ronald Reznick. He's been obsessed with this case ever since it opened. I...I just have a feeling that it's him."

"Thank you," Henricksen said and she left. Henricksen looked back over his notes, and sure enough Reznick's name was there.

Henricksen stood fast an bolted out the door in search of Reznick. He wasn't to hard to find. Reznick worked in the evidence department, and when Henricksen reached the small office he smiled at the shaky man sitting there.

"Why don't you come with me Ron," Henricksen said nicely.

"W-why?" Reznick wobbled out.

"You know why, now lets go." Henricksen grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him out of the room. The FBI agent dragged him into the same interrogation room that he and Dean had been in the day before. He shoved Ron into the seat and watched him tremble with fear.

"Ron why did you release the tape?" Henricksen asked.

"I – I don't know what you're talking about," Reznick lied.

"Sure you do, now tell me, did some one make you do it, did you do it for money? Any of these sounding familiar?"

Reznick began to cry, long, loud sobs that made Henricksen cringe. Reznick then began to explain how he had rigged the camera and blah, blah, blah, Henricksen really had no care for how he did it he just wanted to know why he did it. When asked Reznick blurted out that he was paid to by one of the TV networks.

"What was his name?" Henricksen asked.

"Uh, her," Reznick corrected, Henricksen glared at him. "Bela Talbot." He answered shortly.

Henricksen left the interrogation room and asked one of the cops to put Reznick in a cell, as he went to do another search, this time for Bela Talbot.

Fortunately she was easy to find. One search in the police system brought up her file. She was arrested many times but never convicted, apparently there was never enough evidence that she was the culprit. This time however Henricksen was not going to let her get away with it. He put a warrant out for her and allowed himself a moment to rest. He went back to his office to shut his eyes. He tilt back in his chair and drifted for a short while. It was hard to fall asleep when there was so much going on all around him. His mind drifted back to Dean and if he was doing alright at Jody's husband's place. The man seemed nice enough but Henricksen hardly knew Jody as it was. He was nervous for the boy, but he did know that he was safer there than he would have been at the station. Henricksen couldn't wait to get John to the maximum security prison, where the man cold rot till a jury sentenced him to death.

The interrogations he had with John had gotten him nowhere. The man was completely psychotic. He had no idea how Dean survived that for over twenty years, or how Sam had lived with it for only eighteen or so. It wasn't that John denied the murders, he agreed that they had happened although he remained adamant that Dean was the one who kill all those people. Henricksen regretted going to see John earlier in Dean's interrogation, fearing that it might have been his influence that caused John to blame his son. However, blaming his son did not deter John from speaking about the murders in great detail. After near twenty minuets of listening to John Winchester, Henricksen had enough. He knew that the man was never getting out of jail, so his interview wasn't truly needed. When he left John in his cell the man did not call after him, or tell him that it was Dean who was the _real _bad guy, instead he laughed. A terrible, echoing laugh, that made chills appear on Henricksen's spine.

Just the memory of that laugh made the same shiver return to his back. Henricksen sat forward in his chair and with his elbows resting on the desk, he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. He pulled back and blinked the darkness away. He knew that he would be informed the moment Bela Talbot or Sam Winchester was found, so he felt slightly at a loss as to what to do. With a sigh he pulled his laptop towards him and flipped it open. He checked his mail and noted how many messages were related to the case. He glance over a few of them but didn't bother to reply to any. Then one caught his eye. Henricksen clicked it open and held a breath as a video player appeared on his screen.

The red arrow to start the video hovered over Dean Winchester's face. Henricksen hit play. No sound came out of the video, which he did not try to fix. He knew what Dean had said, he didn't need to hear it again. The title of the video was _"The Murderers Confession,"_ which sounded more like a book than anything else. As he watched he was able to take in Dean's emotions,instead of the story that he was so focused on beforehand. Each nervous look around the room, every flinch at a memory, the tightening of arms around his middle, were all captured by the video. From the body language Dean was presenting, Henricksen was surprised that he was even able to get through his story of abuse and horrors. The kid was so blocked off from the world, it was easy to see; which made Henricksen question Dean's actions in telling him his life story.

Henricksen chewed on that idea. He rolled it over and over in his mind, trying to figure out Dean, and his motives behind telling his story. The video played and Henricksen continued to watch. He wanted nothing more than to find the answers hidden in the tape, but he knew better. With a heavy sigh he paused the video then closed the computer with a snap. He drummed his finger over the hard plastic, contemplating calling up Bobby Singer and asking how the boy was. He then decided that he would just ask Jody before she left to give him a call later that night. Henricksen got up from his seat and headed towards the door. Before he could open it however it opened for him.

A young man, early twenties by the looks of it, stood in front of him. The man blinked in surprise then took a step back.

"Hi, are you Special Agent Henricksen?" He asked.

"Yes," Henricksen replied. "Can I help you?"

"I – yeah, sorry. The lady at the front desk pointed me over here." The kid rubbed the back of his head with one hand. "Uh, could we?" He guested inside. Henricksen shrugged and stepped back into his make shift office. The kid shut the door behind him, and bit his lip.

"Who are you?" Henricksen got straight to the point. The kid looked nervous, sacred even. He shuffled from foot to foot before he answered.

"I'm Sam."


	8. He's my Brother

For a reason Henricksen would never be able to explain, he reached for his gun. Before the palm of his hand touched the gun he pulled away, his mind catching up with his body. Sam, if that was who he really was, stood with his head titled slightly. Henricksen sized up the kid. It was possible that he was Dean's brother, there was some resemblance. But the kid was much taller than Dean or even John for that matter, and with no recent picture of Sam, Henricksen couldn't be sure.

"You got proof?" Henricksen asked as he leaned against his desk.

"Yeah, yeah 'course." Sam said and patted his pockets, nervously looking for his wallet. He pulled a worn brown wallet out of his back pocket and flipped it open. He shucked out his ID and handed it to Henricksen. The F.B.I. Agent took the card and inspected it thoroughly. The picture matched the kid in front of him and the name match what Dean had told him. There it was, Sam Campbell, born May 2 1983 in Vally Nebraska. Henricksen knew that that was part of the fake identity Dean had gotten for Sam, but the one thing that Dean said he had no idea about was where Sam was now. The current address on the ID was; 1414 Alma st. apt. 3a, Palo Alto, California. Henricksen's eyes flicked up from the card to Sam.

"Anything else you got that'll convince me?" He asked blankly. He wanted to believe Sam, but that video had been seem by millions, and Henricksen would not put it pass any one of them to try and fool him. Sam looked down at his wallet for a moment before handing it over to the other man. Henricksen took it and opened it. Inside was a student ID, for Stanford, that was surprising, a credit card, some membership cards and behind the ID was an old Polaroid. Henricksen pulled the photo out and smiled. Dean must have been ten or eleven and Sam was around seven, they stood out on a lawn where Dean had his arm wrapped around his little brothers shoulders.

"Where was this taken?" Henricksen asked.

"Omaha." Sam replied. "One of my teachers took it for us."

Henricksen studied the picture, and in the back ground he could see the Impala Dean had spoken of, waiting, possibly with John Winchester inside. Sam looked happy in the picture, but Dean looked nervous. There was a fake smile stretched on his face but his eyes told a different story, a story Henricksen already knew.

"Come sit down," Henricksen said and handed Sam back his things. The F.B.I. Agent sank into his desk chain and waited for Sam to sit across from him. Sam remained standing.

"Where's Dean?" He asked.

"Not here," Henricksen said shortly. "Sit, I'll tell you what happened here then you can tell me what happened to you."

"Not until I see Dean," Sam said, not moving from his spot.

"That's not gonna happen. So either you sit down and talk to me, or I'll throw you in an interrogation room and make you talk."

Sam grimaced but sat down nevertheless.

"Will you at least tell me where he is?" Sam begged.

"Safe, lets leave it at that for now." Sam accepted his answer. "Now, how did you even get in here?"

"I just walked right in," Sam answered, unsure as to what Henricksen was getting at.

"You just walked right in the front doors and no one said anything to you?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Stupid," Henricksen mumbled to himself. "You think with all the shit that has gone down in the past days there would be a little more security. Anyways, this place has been a hive, and I'm betting you saw the tape right?"

"I only saw a little of the beginning. When I knew it was Dean, I found out where he was and came running. I drove straight from California. I listened to some bit on the radio, the parts that they played anyways. Then they mentioned my name, and the fake name Dean had given me, and I drove faster."

"Do you want to see the tape?" Henricksen asked. Sam was quiet for a long moment.

"No, I don't think I will. Not yet anyways."

"Fine," Henricksen responded.

"Why isn't Dean here?"

"Wasn't safe."

"A police station that's not safe?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow.

"A police station that was surrounded by reporters and news cameras. Dean didn't need any more stress, so I hid him where they couldn't get to him."

"Good." Sam breathed. "So I imagine that the video wasn't released on purpose?"

"No the evidence guy here rigged the camera to make a quick buck." Henricksen told him. "That tape was supposed to only be seen by me and a couple more agents. And possible a jury." Henricksen added as an after thought.

"Dean's going to be acquitted of charges right" Sam asked intently.

"I hope so," Henricksen sighed. "If anything he'll be charged with accessory to murder-"

"No he won't," Sam cut him off. "Sure Dean knew that John was a killer but he was threatened. If anything thing Dean was using self defense to protect himself, and the only way to protect himself, and me, was not to tell anyone. He was also under age when he first found out what John did, they can't accuse him for that."

"You wanna be a lawyer or something when you grow up," Henricksen laughed.

"Pre-law, actually. I'll graduate at the end of this semester." Sam smirked.

"Huh," Henricksen said dumbly. "At Stanford?"

"Yeah, full ride," he sighed. "All thanks to Dean."

"Sam," Henricksen began, "you seem like a smart kid. I mean pre-law and Stanford and all that, so how could you not know what was going on. Dean said that you knew about the abuse, but did you know about the murders?"

"No, not until I got away did I even think that John could have been a killer." Sam's shoulders sunk as he spoke. "I knew that John hurt Dean. I'd seen the bruises, and the scar on his cheek was a daily reminder. But, Dean is smart. He's probably smarter than both of us, he just hides well. Very well. I tired to find him a couple years ago, but there was nothing. No trail whatsoever. I know he told me never to try and contact him but he's my brother, you know? Then I heard about the Cross Country Killer, we studied in some of my classes, and I just followed the clues. Made me sick when I found out that the pattern fit my life. When my searching got me nowhere I decided to wait, because I knew one day he would get caught."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Henricksen asked.

"I was scared! I was so fucking scared that I was right. God knows I didn't want to be right. I wanted that all to be a dream, a serious miscalculation on my part, but it wasn't. If I could go back I would, in a heartbeat, if I had known I could have saved my brother I would have done anything, _anything. _He saved my life, all I want to do is return the favor."

They sat in silence after that. Henricksen thought about showing Sam the video, then decided that it was something he should watch by himself. There was to much there to take in with everything that was happening around them.

"Where's John?" Sam asked suddenly.

"He's still here. Gonna be moved soon though." Henricksen thought it odd that Sam only referred to his father as 'John', while Dean and called him 'dad' for the most part.

"Can I see him?"

"W-what?" Henricksen was caught off guard.

"I want to see him," Sam repeated.

"If you're sure?" Henricksen said hesitantly.

"I'm sure." Sam stated firmly.

Henricksen got up and headed towards the door, with Sam close behind. Together they made their way to the cell. Just as when Henricksen walked though the building with the older Winchester brother, he gained many onlookers. Unlike Dean though, Sam kept his head up.

"He thinks you're dead," Henricksen had stopped short before opening the door to the guarded cell.

"Oh?" Was Sam's only reply.

"Dean told him you were dead. Dean actually told me he had killed you, and in a way I guess he did." Henricksen mused.

"Dean, if anything, saved my life." Sam retorted.

"That he did," Henricksen agreed and opened the door.

John was still in the corner of the cell, staring at the ceiling. Sam paused, he swallowed hard then took another step forward. Henricksen moved with him until they both stood mere feet from the bars that separated father and son. Henricksen watched as Sam glared at his father. He could feel the ferocity of that stare rolling off the youngest Winchester in waves. John rolled his head to look at the intruders. There was no acknowledgement of Sam in his eyes. Sam nor Henricksen knew whether to be relived or even more revolted by John.

"Can I help you Victor?" John slurred. Henricksen lip furled at the man tone.

"No," Sam stepped in. "I was wondering if you could help me?"

"Yeah, and who the fuck are you?" John bit out.

"Sam."

John squinted his eyes, then opened them dramatically. He pushed himself up without the use of his hands and shuffled over to the bars.

"Sam," John breathed. "I thought you sere dead, son."

"Don't call me that," Sam hissed. "I'm not you son, not anymore."

"Dean told me he had killed you," John began, he looked like he wanted to reach out and touch Sam. Sam instinctively stepped back. "Said that you figured out what I was and was gonna tell. Said he had to kill you to protect us. I was _sad _Sam. You were my son, my little boy and Dean had killed you, like Cain and Able. I'm so happy you're alive Sam."

"I'm not happy you are," Sam replied in a whisper. "I hate you. The only reason I came in here to see you was to say that to your face. I _hate_ you. I hate what you have done. I hate what you did to my life, and above all I hate what you have done to Dean. I'm so happy that you got sloppy and got caught. I hope you rot."

John was fuming. Sam took a deep breath and stared down his father.

"No I don't hope you rot. I hope you die. I will do everything in my power to make sure you get the death sentence. I don't want you in this world anymore."

With that Sam turned and left, Henricksen hurrying to keep up. Sam made a B line for the agents office. When they were sitting back in their respective seats Henricksen spoke up.

"That was harsh," he huffed out.

"You don't think he deserved it?" Sam asked confused.

"No, he did. He deserved more abuse if I have anything to say about it." Henricksen agreed.

"Can I see Dean now?" Sam asked.

Henricksen bit the inside of his cheek before answering.

"No-"

"What!" Sam shot back. "Why not?"

"Let me finish," he held up a hand to stop Sam. "Dean doesn't want to see you. I know that's hard to accept but it's what he told me, and I'll tell you why. That boy is terrified. He may not let it show in the tape, hell, he'll probably never let it show when you were around him, but he is scared shitless. He's afraid of what your father will do to him, and you, if he gets out. Which I tried to tell him was never going to happen but he didn't seem convinced. He also afraid of what others are going to do to you once they find out your father was a serial killer. He didn't so much fear for what others were going to do to him, but I think that's just how Dean's mind works. It's all about you Sam."

Sam looked like he was trying to swallow a rock. Henricksen could see tears on the brink off falling.

"But he's my brother," Sam whispered.

"I'll see what I can do," Henricksen said and got up. He left Sam in the room but stayed just outside the door. He pulled out his phone and called Jody.

"Mills," Jody answered promptly.

"Jody, hey it's Victor," he began. "Look, are you on your way back home?"

"Yeah almost there actually," Jody told him. "What's this about."

"Sam is here."

There was a screech, that was either from the tires of her car, or a noise that Henricksen did not know was humanly possible.

"What!?"

"Yeah showed up not to long ago," Henricksen explained. "I need you to talk to Dean. Or have Bobby talk to Dean. Try and get him to come see Sam. I think they both need closure and they aren't gonna get it if they stay apart."

"Yeah, yeah," Jody murmured. "Sure I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks," Henricksen said before hanging up and re-entering the office.

Sam perked up a little, then deflated as Henricksen shook his head.

"I have someone on it," he said. "Jody, she's gonna talk to Dean see if he'll change his mind. Honestly I think he will. I was just trying to respect his wishes."

"Okay," Sam said uncertainly. "So when will we hear back?"

"I don't know," Henricksen said truthfully.

"What am I supposed to do? Just wait here? Twiddle my thumbs?" Sam raised his voice.

"Yes," Henricksen deadpanned.

Sam heaved a heavy sigh and sank deeper into his seat. Henricksen sat back down as well and flipped open his laptop once more. He checked any important messages then looked into to see if anyone had figured out where Dean was yet. Sam tapped his foot nervously against the ground. Henricksen watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. The fidgeting finally became to much for Sam and he had to get up and pace the floor. Henricksen rolled his eyes and taped down the computer screen.

"Sam," Henricksen caught the young mans attention. "Tell me something."

"Sure," Sam stopped his pacing and faced Henricksen.

"What did Dean say to you to get you to leave?"

Sam slowly closed his eyes, as if remembering that day. He sat back down and looked up at Henricksen with sad eyes.

"It's not something I really talk about, or well, think about. It's the one day that I wish I could change more than anything. I wish I could go back and take Dean with me. Thinking about it now I have no idea why I didn't just drag him out to California with me."

"Tell me about it," Henricksen asked.

"It was about four years ago, closer to five actually" Sam began.

Blue Earth, Minnesota 2001

"Do you think I'll need my textbooks?"

Dean raised an eyebrow from the drivers side. Sam looked over his shoulder nervously at the suitcase in the back seat of the Impala.

"What for?" Dean asked.

"I don't know, but I might need them. We should go back."

"Sam," Dean sighed. "You have everything you need, stop worrying."

"I can't," Sam mumbled and turned to face the road.

"What's that?"

"I said, I can't stop worrying, Dean. I can't. I'm worried about school and dad, and you, mostly." Sam sent a wistful look at his brother.

"Sammy everything's gonna be fine." Dean smiled. "Few years from now you'll be happy, gettin' an awesome job, starting a family, just you wait."

"And what about you? What will you be doing?"

"Same thing I'm doing now. Taking care of my idiot little brother." Dean reached out and ruffled his hair. Sam pushed him away with a laugh.

Sam sighed to himself. He wanted to believe that, but he couldn't. Dean drove with a smile plastered on his face. Sam could tell that some of the smile was real, while the other half was forced. Ever since Sam had gotten his acceptance letter, that same smile had been stuck on Dean. They were driving out to the bus station and from there Sam would head towards California. Although Dean didn't know that.

Stanford had offered him a full ride, and no matter how much he wanted to tell Dean, he didn't. Well, more like Dean wouldn't let him. Even before Sam started applying to colleges, Dean didn't want anything to do with it. At first Sam believed that it was because Dean was jealous. Jealous that Sam was able to go to college and he wasn't. Every time Sam brought up how nice the campus at Harvard was or, the admission rates of a state school, Dean wouldn't hear it. Dean would leave the room, say he didn't care, or tell Sam he didn't have time. All lies, Sam knew. Dean was keeping a secret from him, and for the life of him Sam couldn't figure it out.

When the first of the replying letters arrived Dean took them. Late one night Dean set a letter on the table between himself and Sam. Sam grabbed for it, but Dean stopped him. The letter lay on the table unmoving, but somehow creating an unsettling mood in the air.

"You can't let me know where you are going." Sam could clearly remember how Dean's voice broke and the pricking of tears found their way to his eyes.

Dean explained his reasoning, but Sam still didn't understand why. Dean had told Sam that he didn't want their father to find out. Dean didn't want him knowing Sam where he was going to school, let alone that Sam was actually going to attend school. Sam could tell Dean was afraid, but it was a different kind of fear that shown on his brothers face. He had seen the fear of their father, fear from CPS, and Dean's fear whenever Sam did something stupid to get himself hurt, but he had never see fear like that on Dean's face.

Even though Sam wanted so badly to let Dean into this part of his life, he allowed Dean stay away. He knew his brother had his reasons, and Sam figured that he would get to the bottom of it eventually. But, sitting in the Impala with him, Sam never felt further away from his brother.

Dean slowly pulled into the bus station. He parked around back, away from anyone else. Sam got out of the car and popped the trunk. Dean sat in the car for a moment, breathing deep and pulling himself together. Sam took his time getting his stuff out. Dean soon joined him with a smile and together they walked towards the buses. Sam's bus was scheduled to leave in ten minutes, leaving them enough time to say goodbye. Goodbye for a few months Sam thought, but Dean had other ideas.

"Sammy," Dean started, then stopped almost unable to continue.

"What's wrong Dean?" Sam asked suddenly concerned for his brother even more.

"Sam when you get on that bus you don't look back," Dean said firmly. Sam stared at his older brother, who bore right back at him.

"What?" Sam sputtered. "Dean you-you can't mean that?"

"I do." Dean nodded. "You leave and you stay gone. Got it?"

"No, no I don't got it," Sam said angrily. His hands were suddenly sweaty and his heart was pounding at his chest. "Dean you can't say things like that to me, not now!"

Dean's brow furrowed and he stepped into Sam's personal space and gripped him by his shirt. He yanked his younger brother down a little, his eyes fierce.

"You are getting out." Dean growled, then pushed Sam away. Sam stumbled back, gaze wide and mouth agape.

"Dean," Sam began slowly. "Is this about dad?"

"Of course it's about dad," Dean huffed. "But, it's more about you."

"What is going through your mind Dean?"

"Sam, you have to trust me."

"I do," Sam blurted out quickly. "I do, I always will."

"Good," Dean smiled. "Then trust me now. Get on that bus, go to school, be whatever you want to be, but don't come back."

"Why?" Sam asked, trying very hard to contain himself from exploding at his brother.

"You have to trust me," was all Dean said.

"I want to Dean, but you're making this hard."

"It doesn't have to be," Dean told him. The older Winchester brother picked up Sam's bag and started over to the buses. Sam, instinctively, followed. Sam glanced down at his watch; he had three minuets to get on the bus. They found the right one and Dean threw Sam's bag into the cargo hold.

"Get on the bus Sam." Dean said, but refused to met his brother's eye.

"I will Dean." Sam promised, and lied. He would get on the bus and drive out to California, but he was going to come back. Sam wouldn't, no, couldn't leave his brother.

"Good." Dean nodded.

Dean grabbed for Sam once more, this time pulling him into a tight embrace. Sam hugged him back just as tight. They let go of each other and smiled. Dean reached out and ruffled Sam's hair, muttered that he needed a hair cut, then heaved a heave sigh.

"Bye Sammy."

"Bye Dean," Sam said, then as soon as he said it he could feel it. The hugeness of this moment. It crashed down around him like tidal waves. Dean cocked a smile then turned before Sam could get out another word. Dean didn't turn back. The bus driver was yelling at him to get on, but Sam felt frozen. Dean had to look back. If Dean didn't look back Sam was going after him. The driver yelled again, and Sam watched as Dean paused. He held his breath as Dean looked over his shoulder for the briefest moment before facing forwarded and walking off once more.

That was enough. It was enough for now. Sam got on the bus and watched for the Impala to drive away in the opposite direction, but he never saw it. The bus moved towards California, but Dean stayed where he was. As the bus terminal faded into the background, Sam fought off the feeling of throwing up. Something was so wrong with what had just happened. Dean had never acted like that before. It was unnerving. Sam figured that he would call Dean later, he would try to find out why Dean had said those things.

When Sam got to the next stop he made a quick call, but received only the voice message.

_Sam, after today I'm disconnecting this number. Don't come back Sammy. I know it will tear you up inside, but don't come back. You will be so much better without us, with out me. I know you think I'm talking shit, but I know what I'm doing, and I do need you to trust me on this. Please, please Sammy trust me. Dad and I are leaving Minnesota by days end, so you won't know where we are. And I don't want you to-_

The machine cut Dean off and Sam let the phone fall from his hands. He couldn't breath for a while. Every sound he wanted to make got caught up in his throat. He fell to his knees and took in gasping breaths. He redialed the number and listened to the message once more. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. But it was what Sam had, and it was what Dean wanted. So with eyes wet and hands heavy, Sam got back on the bus and did not look back. There was nothing there anyways.

_Monument, Colorado 2005_

_ "_So that was it?" Henricksen questioned, he couldn't believe that Sam would give up so easily. "You never sought out your brother or father again?"

"Are you kidding me?" Sam snorted. "I went a week before I tried to contact Dean, but he was long gone by then. I called anyone who might know where he was, places we had stayed before, people we had met, I tried anything and everything to try and find him. He was dust in the wind by the time I made the first phone call."

"What about your father?"

"What about him?"

"Did you try and contact him?" Henricksen asked.

"No..." Sam said softly, then titled hid head to one side. "I never really thought of that as an option. John was not a reliable man then, and I figured, well I had hoped that Dean had left him. I had really thought he left John to rot somewhere, but I guess I was wrong. A few years after we parted I began to think Dean was dead. It was one of the only conclusions that made sense, you know? After years, I thought maybe he would want to reconnect, but when he didn't, I feared the worse, and now I'm thinking that the worse may have been better for him in the long run. But not anymore. Now all I want is to see my brother."

Henricksen looked at his watch and sighed at the time. It was nearing ten and he didn't want to disrupt Bobby and Jody more than he already had.

"Can you wait till morning?" Henricksen asked.

"Yeah," Sam said with a smile. "I can wait till morning."


	9. Running

**Hey guys, sorry for the long update. I lost my muse for this story and /i had to write some other things before I could get back to this. So please hold on with me. I still have so much more of this story to tell!**

* * *

Morning came early for Bobby Singer. When the sun peeked out from the mountains he woke. Jody stayed asleep and Bobby made no movement to wake her. He got out of the bed gingerly and pulled a sweater over his head. He fumbled his way down the stairs and was surprised to see Dean sitting at the kitchen table.

"Morning son," Bobby grumbled. "Did you make coffee?"

Dean nodded over to the coffee pot that was steaming.

"Awesome," Bobby smiled. "Why you up this early?"

"I don't know," Dean said quietly, almost mouse like.

"What's troubling ya'," Bobby asked taking a sip of coffee.

"Your phone rang," Dean stated.

"Oh?"

"Henricksen left a message," he continued. "It played out loud."

"What'd he want?"

"Sam's there," Dean choked out. He looked to be on the verge of tears, happy or sad, Bobby could tell yet. "Said he's gonna bring him over here."

Bobby sat down next to Dean. He thought about waking Jody, she would probable have a better way to calm down Dean than he would. Bobby didn't say anything to Dean, he knew that Dean didn't need to hear anymore from him, the words he had said last night still applied to this conversation. So instead of persuading the man to see his brother, all Bobby could think to do was to take his mind off it.

"You wanna go work on the cars?"

"Yes," Dean said fast.

Bobby nodded and brought his mug with him as they made their way outside.

Inside Jody awoke to an empty bed. She pulled herself from the blankets and gazed out the window, then smiled when she saw her husband and Dean Winchester walking out towards the workshop. Jody dressed and headed down the stairs. She drank the lukewarm coffee and played the message that was blinking on the answering machine.

_Jody, this is Victor. Did you talk to Dean yet? If so call me back, Sam wants to see him, and I don't think he is going to wait much longer. It's early now so call me when you're awake, and let Dean know. I think it will be okay. Okay. Bye._

Jody pursed her lips. She had never spoken to Dean last night. When she got home he and Bobby were having a little heart to heart and she didn't think it was the best time to bring up Sam. Instead she let them have their time together. She ate with them and could feel the connection her husband had made with the young man. That was one of the things she loved about Bobby, his open heart. Jody poured herself another cup of coffee and leaned against the counter as she called Henricksen back. She only waited one ring before he answered.

"Henricksen."

"Hi Victor, it's Jody."

"You got my message," he stated.

"Yes, but I haven't spoken to Dean about this yet."

"Oh," was all Henricksen responded with.

"I think he will be okay though." Jody told him. "I think he just needed a night. Bring Sam over. I know they both need to see each other."

"You're right about that," Henricksen mumbled. "Alright we'll be over around noon?"

"Sounds good," Jody confirmed.

"Okay, we'll see you in a while."

"See you soon."

Jody took a long sip of her coffee before setting the phone down and heading outside to Bobby and Dean. She followed the sounds of her husband. Bobby was giving out directions about cars and Dean was following them silently. She waited until they noticed her.

"Hi boys, you wanna come in for some breakfast?" She asked.

"Sure thing," Bobby said moving her way. Dean wiped his hands off on a rag and trailed after Bobby. She smiled at him and let him go in front of her, her smile fading as she knew telling him that Sam was coming over was going to crack the boy even more.

Back in the kitchen Jody put together a quick breakfast of instant oatmeal. She wanted to break it easy, but there was nothing easy in Dean Winchesters life.

"Sam is at the police station," Jody blurted out.

"I know," Dean said in a breath.

"Oh," Jody said and fell back in her chair.

"I heard the message this morning." Dean explained.

"Oh," Jody repeated. "Well I called Victor back. Sam wanted to see you so he's coming over later today, around noon. I hope that's alright."

Dean didn't say anything back. He swallowed hard then nodded ever so slightly. Jody gave him a smile, and Bobby patted the young man's shoulder lightly.

"You'll be glad you did this Dean." Bobby told him.

"Sure," Dean whispered.

Dean wanted to believe Bobby, but believing was something that he had a hard time with. He shoveled warm oatmeal into his mouth and tired to put the future out of his mind for the moment. Next to him Bobby and Jody exchanged a fleeting glance.

With breakfast settling Bobby took to the couch and flipped on the TV. He browsed channels, quickly turning them when a news station appeared in the fear they might show something of Dean's case. Dean sat next to him and although he was looking forward his eyes remained unfocused on the screen. Jody paced. She hated waiting. She looked at her husband and wondered how he could be so relaxed at a time like this. Ever second pace she would look at the clock, it was eleven and in one hour things were going to change very much. She found it strange that this boy she had know for only a few days was having such an impact on her. She knew that Bobby felt the same way, if not more. She and Bobby had never had children of their own, but her maternal instinct was still present, and from what she watch with Dean and Bobby, she could help but be sad that her husband would never be the father that he could have been.

Noon rolled around and the house could feel the tension in the air. Dean was still on the couch, his leg bumping up and down as his nerves set in. Jody had made herself scarce when the phone had rung and she left to answer it. It was now Bobby's turn to pace. He only made it a few laps before Jody came back in with the phone in hand.

"They are pulling up the driveway," she said, unsure if he should be happy or a little frightened.

"Well lets go greet them," Bobby huffed and aimed for the door. "Come on son," he waved to Dean.

Dean took one long breath before getting up from the couch. He walked with Bobby and Jody out onto the porch. Even from there he could see the car approaching. As it got closer he could vaguely make out two figures in the front. The car crept in and Dean looked down. He felt sick. He was going to throw up any moment. He heard the car stop and he chanced a glace up. He saw a blur of whom he knew was his brother before he was was running off towards the forest.

"Dean!"

Shouts chased him away from the salvage yard and a voice that he knew he should have never heared again hunted him. Dean ran faster. He flew past the broken cars and right into the thick of the forest. Leaves and branches crunched underfoot, trees were melding together as tears marred his vision. He couldn't do this. He couldn't see his brother, not after everything he had done. He was never going to see Sam again and this time he was dead set on making that happen. He slowed his pace when he could no longer breath properly.

Then he heard the sound of someone else running. Dean eyes widened as he peaked over his shoulder to see Sam running after him. Dean blasted off again. He weaved through trees and tried to make it further and further away from his brother. Sam was yelling for Dean to stop, but he couldn't.

Sam was getting closer, Dean didn't need to look back to see that, he could hear it. Sam was so near him and before Dean could take another stride his brothers body collided with his. They both tumbled to the ground, panting and weak. Dean scrambled to get to his feet but Sam was faster. The younger Winchester got to his knees and spun around to grab Dean by the shoulders before he could escape once more.

They stared at each other or the first time in years. Sam blinked multiple times almost not believing his vision. Dean in front of him was so _real_, there was no other word for it. Dean still looked like his brother, same face same build, but his eyes were so different. Sam wanted to cry just from seeing the age of Dean's eyes.

"Dean," Sam finally spoke.

Dean shook in Sam's grasp. His little brother was no longer little. Sam was a man now, not the teenager Dean remembered. He could quite fit it into his mind that this person was Sam. He looked like their mother, and sadly, Dean thought, like their father. Dean swallowed hard before placing a hand on top of Sam's shoulder.

"Hi Sammy," he choked out.

Sam pulled his brother forwards into a tight hug. Slowly Dean's arms made their way around Sam's back as well. Once there Dean squeezed back a hard as he could. They settled on the ground, arms around one another, neither wanting to be the first to break the connection. Slowly, like letting go of glass, they released each other. Sam kept his hands on Dean's forearms, just to ensure that he wasn't going anywhere. Dean curled in a little, not knowing the next step in this reunion. Luckily Sam did.

"I'm so glad you're alive," Sam breathed. "I wasn't sure, for the longest time I thought... Then all this and now you're here and alive and real, and _here."_

Dean knew exactly what Sam was trying to say to him. For the longest time he feared that Sam may be dead, then to get the information that he was alive and well was overwhelming. There was so much Dean wanted to say to his brother, but at the moment he couldn't form a single word. He opened and closed his mouth a few times only to fail at some sort of reassurance.

"Dean, you don't need to say anything," Sam smiled. "I know."

And Sam did know, to some extent, he knew his brother, although in most ways he knew nothing of the man before him.

"I just, never wanted you to know," Dean told.

"I know," Sam agreed.

"I mean," Dean said thickly. "I wanted you to have a good life."

"I know."

"Did you?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed. "Yeah it was good, but having you in it again is going to make my life better, and hopefully yours too. I mean if you want to, that is. I'm not gonna force you to do anything you don't want, but I want you back in my life Dean. If this is all I'm gonna get then I guess I can learn to live with it-"

"Sam stop," Dean interrupted.

"Sorry, I'm nervous," he admitted.

"s'okay," Dean murmured. "So am I."

In the distance the brothers could hear their names being called, but neither made a motion to call back. They sat across from one another on the forest floor both trying to figure out how to go about the rest of the reunion. Silence claimed them for to long for Sam.

"Thank you, Dean," Sam spoke.

"What?" Dean asked and tilted his head.

"Thank you for saving my life," Sam told him.

"Your my brother," Dean responded as if that answered every question Sam wanted and needed to ask, and after a moment of contemplation he realized that in a way it did. Sam decided then and there that he was going to try to be as good a brother to Dean as Dean was to him. That started with getting off the ground and going back to Bobby's.

Sam stood and offered a hand down to Dean. With little hesitation Dean accepted. Sam wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders, marveling at how small his big brother was. Together once more they made their way back to the salvage yard. Sam let his arm fall from Dean as they approached, he could feel him tensing up. Jody was standing in the middle of the yard and heaved a huge sigh of relief when she spotted Sam and Dean. Soon Henricksen and Bobby were out of the forest and looking mad as hell. Bobby gave Dean a gruff look and grumbled his way into the house without a look back. Henricksen looked like he wanted to lecture Dean but held his tongue as he caught sight of how close Sam and Dean were standing. He quirked a small smile and hid his face before either could catch it.

They went into the living room where Bobby had already settled himself in a lazy chair. Sam and Dean sat on the couch while Jody and Henricksen pulled in chairs from the kitchen. Eyes shifted from one to another, all unsure as to who should start the conversation.

"Okay I'll start," Henricksen sighed. "I know we all want what is best for Dean in this situation so this conversation shouldn't last to long. I think it's best if he stays here for a little bit longer, just until John is moved to the prison. That way some of the media will leave with him. The trial won't take place for a while so in the meantime I think we should work on trying to get Dean off any charges. With Sam here his story checks out, but a jury will still need to decide on weather or not he is guilty, which I don't think they will."

"Do you know where the trials gonna take place?" Bobby asked.

"No," Henricksen said. "It'll be a while till that's revealed."

"Will I have to go to jail?" Dean asked in one quick breath.

"No," Sam and Henricksen said at the same time.

"There's no evidence of you at any of the crime scenes," Henricksen explained. "The only link investigators have is that you are John's son."

"Without that evidence they can't make you stay which is good," Sam said. "That means you can come with me. But cops will probable want to check in constantly to make sure you haven't run away."

"Stay with you?" Dean asked, confusion creeping into his voice.

"Y-yeah," Sam stumbled. "I mean if you want to, you don't have to but you can if you want."

"I don't know," Dean admitted.

"Son if you want you can stay with us," Bobby offered. "I ain't got no problem with it, and I don't think Jody will mind much. Would you dear?"

"Not a bit," Jody smiled.

"You have options Dean," Henricksen told him. "But for today, forget about it. Take the day. We'll leave you two alone for awhile." Nervousness showed on Dean's face. "Or we can stay, whatever you like, but I think you should talk to your brother."

"Okay," Dean nodded although his face betrayed his actions. He was happy that Sam was there but Sam was almost like a stranger, a familiar stranger, but a stranger nevertheless.

"Sure," Bobby said and got up. "I'll be out in the workshop if you need me." Dean was glad for Bobby's insight, the man knew he wanted to have some privacy but to also have the security of someone nearby.

"I'm gonna head over to the station," Jody said. "Victor want to tag along?"

"Sure," Henricksen said. He rose with Jody and gave Dean a nod before they left the house.

With the room now empty the brothers sat in silence. Sam fidgeted in his seat, once again unsure of how to begin another conversation with Dean. Dean felt the same. He stared at the floor and licked his lips. He waited, waited for Sam to question him, interrogate him, something.

"Is there anything you want to ask me?" Sam asked. "I mean I have a million and a half questions for you, but, I wanna know, do you want to know anything about me?"

Dean wanted to know everything about his brother. He wish desperately that he could have known every trial that Sam had gone though, every class he had taken at school, who his friends were, did he have a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Dean realized that besides raising the man in front of him, he knew nothing of his life. He knew that was all of his own doing but it still hurt more than he ever could have imagined.

"When I left you to go to school," Dean began. "Where did you go?"

"California," Sam answered, happy that Dean wanted to talk to him. "I got accepted to Stanford, full ride actually. You remember all those letter from the colleges you kept from me?" Dean nodded. "Well most of them were acceptance letters. You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you about all the schools that wanted me. Hell I even wanted John to know!" Sam laughed.

"I wish I could have known." Dean said solemnly.

"Dean," Sam began. "I know that you did what you had to do to keep us safe, don't think for a second that I resent any of it, because I don't. You know the only reason I chose Stanford was because you said if you could live anywhere you would have picked California."

"I did?" Dean asked, confusion set on his face.

"Yeah, when I was a freshman in high school you said something about it, I think it was because of the weather and that there were beaches everywhere. And, when Stanford offered me a scholarship I wanted it because I though if I went to school in California you would want to come with me."

"I did want to go with you," Dean whispered.

"Then why didn't you!" Sam nearly yelled. Dean cringed a little and Sam instantly regretted it. "Why...why did you stay?"

"I didn't want him to find you," Dean said, his voice finding strength that Sam didn't think was there. "I was not going to let him find you. I made myself promise that once you were gone you would stay gone so that Dad would never be able to hurt you. I had to protect you Sammy. That was my job."

"You did a good job Dean," Sam smiled. "You protected me, so let me return the favor. You don't need to run away because you think I will get hurt, I won't. And I promise to try my best to not let you get hurt anymore." Sam stared into his brothers eyes, in them Sam could see doubt. "Please try and believe me, even if it is just a little, let me take care you for for a while, just for a while Dean."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

For the next few hours Sam told Dean about his life. He told him of starting college and really liking Law, and how he is going to be a lawyer and whatnot. Dean listened intently, he didn't want to miss one word, he had missed to much of Sam's life that he couldn't bare to lose another word. Sam went on and told him about meting a girl, Jess. Sam gushed about her. Dean could see it in his eyes that he was in love with her. Dean let Sam talk about Jess for ages until Dean felt as though he knew her. Sam then began to tell about how he had looked for Dean and their father. Dean felt the blood leave his face. He stayed quite though, he listened to the story and was thankful (which made him feel worse) when Sam story ended in him finding nothing. Sam said that he never gave up on finding Dean and that when his criminal justice class studied serial killers they spoke of the Cross Country Killer and that was when Sam found out a dark secret of his past.

"I'm sorry you had to find out that way," Dean said sadly.

"How would you have liked me to find out?" Sam asked curious.

"I wouldn't have wanted you to know at all." Dean stated.

"I'm glad I know," Sam said thoughtfully.

"What?" Dean sputtered.

"I'm glad that I know," Sam repeated. "I'm glad that I finally have answers to what happened in my childhood. I'm glad that I know what happened to you and to our father. I am not happy with what has happened to you but I would rather know and suffer with you then be in dark about our entire lives. This story might not have a happy beginning or middle but it can still have a happy ending. I want it to have a happy ending."

"Me too Sam, me too." Dean agreed as he held tight to a small smile.

"When this is all over here will you come back to California with me?" Sam asked.

"I don't have anywhere else to go," Dean replied. Sam opened and closed his mouth as he realized that Dean was right, he really had nowhere to go. "But you were right, I do like California." He smiled.

"Great," Sam grinned back. "I can't wait for you to met Jess and my friends."

"Do...do they know who I am?" Dean asked worriedly.

"No, they don't." Sam frowned. "I didn't have time to tell Jess or anyone where I was going before I left. And I never told them much about my past. I know more about them than they know about me, and I kinda liked it that way. But I guess thing are going to change."

"They don't have to," Dean said hurriedly. "You could still go back. You can pretend that this didn't happen, no one else needs to know. I bet we can convince Henricksen that-"

"No Dean." Sam stopped him. "We are not pretending, I have finally got you back in my life, there is no way in hell that I am giving that up. We've pretended long enough, there is no need anymore."

"If you're sure," Dean mumbled.

"I am, Dean, you're my brother I would do anything for you, just like you have done for me-"

"No." Dean cut in. Dean searched his brothers face. Dean never wanted him to have to to the kinds of things he had done. "You don't have to," he said. "you...you didn't watch the tape did you?"

"What?" Sam asked confused. "I only watched a little, not much really. Why, did you want me to?"

"No, please, don't." Dean begged. "Never watch it please, please."

"Okay," Sam promised. "But Dean, I hope one day that you feel comfortable enough with me to tell me all the things you said on that tape."

Dean didn't say anything. That was something he could not promise his brother. Dean had secrets, so many dark secrets, the tape told some, but Dean kept the rest.

* * *

**Please Review! let me know what you think!  
**


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